


Argot

by yetanothereireannach



Category: Orphan Black (TV)
Genre: Angst, Deception, F/F, Family, Fingersmith inspired fanfic, Friendship, Its definitely gonna have more smut than the book- but hey! Its fanfiction, Love, Smut, Thriller, thieves, try to stay true to book but there will be some changes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-15
Updated: 2017-03-01
Packaged: 2018-05-01 20:18:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 15
Words: 138,448
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5219411
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yetanothereireannach/pseuds/yetanothereireannach
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>So this fanfic is heavily inspired by Sarah Waters amazing Fingersmith. READ IT GUYS!</p>
<p>Paris 1889; Cosima Niehaus a German Orphan finds herself in Paris growing up in a house of robbers and con artists. Adopted by the enigmatic Mrs Sadler, Cosima thinks she knows all she needs to about her family. </p>
<p>However what she doesnt know is that her fate is intertwined with another, another orphan like herself but hidden from the world in a house miles from Paris. How will their lives collide?</p>
<p>An argot is a secret language used by various groups—e.g. schoolmates, outlaws, colleagues, among many others—to prevent outsiders from understanding their conversations.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. When I thought it all began: Cosima

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer : I do not own any of these characters and this is simply a tribute to Sarah Waters Fingersmith, which happens to be my favourite book. I suggest you all read it If ye haven’t yet because it is AMAZING. 
> 
> Btw Im on Tumblr: https://www.tumblr.com/blog/yetanothereireannach

Names are a funny thing, you’re born to them, yet they are as changeable as a slip. I’ve had many names, and I cannot be certain to the name I was born to… but the name I was given long ago was Cosima Niehaus. Funny isn’t it? Not knowing my own name, but that is just the first of many things I do not know. I know for example the year of my birth, but for the longest time not the date, not that I was ever much concerned… I traded my birthday for Christmas day and considered myself lucky, after all how many people could say their birthday was the same as Jesus’? I know where I was born, I was born in Frankfurt, Germany but cannot recall ever having been there nor can I speak a word of German. I never knew my mother, and know she has been long dead. Making me an orphan I suppose, if there had ever been a father I have never met him. These people… my parents I suppose, were nothing to me but passing notions and sometimes the briefest of whistfulness. If I was the infant of anyone it was Mrs Sadler; an Irish woman who had found herself in the sprawling vibrant city of Paris. I lived with her and Monsieur Dufour, a locksmith in Pigalle, on Rue de la Jonquiere.

The story of how I ended up in such a place is rather romantic in its way, if one believes in such things or fancies. Mrs Sadler bought me as a toddler from a passing circus. She had passed by to propose our house for lodgings to the crew and saw me, tied to a crate, a scrawny, wild, malnourished and scrappy thing for my age, my belly swollen and eyes crusty. I had obviously very recently been beaten black and blue, but even as she passed I snarled at her like some sort of rabid animal. She looked for the master of the circus who told her there was no work going, and that they would be leaving on the morrow, as he led her out of the tent in passing I apparently tried to bite her, leading a mighty smack from the circus master. Mrs Sadler took one look at me and offered to buy me, saying she could use a char and that though small she could find some use for me. Though originally resistant and  later baffled the circus master was all too willing to oblige and Mrs Sadler took me home to Rue de la Jonquiere.

I remember nothing of the circus but the first memory I have haunts me as if it was yesterday. This memory is as clear as day, it is the first time I remember thinking about how the world is made up and where I belong in it.

When I was four or so, and had been with Mrs Sadler for 2 years a girl called Fleur paid her a penny to take me begging at a local theatre. I was quite popular to take begging because though I was older, I was very very small for my age, so people thought me younger and not much older than a toddler. I had big brown eyes and a thick mop of rich mahogany hair, shiny and lustrous. People found me charming, and Fleur and I bore a reasonable resemblance. I remember she brought me to Theatre du Palais Royale and though I certainly cannot remember the name of the play we were to see, I remember almost everything else.

I remember the crush of the people, I remember the stench of unwashed bodies, covered in perfume, thick and heady, and people staggering in drunken stupor. I remember Fleur slipping ahead of me in the crowd, her pale hand slipping into pockets and coming out with what I believed to be treasures, and then disappearing inexplicably into a tear at her waist.

I then remember the worst. I lost sight of Fleur the room seemed to pitch and roll as I tried to fight myself through the dirty skirts and the myriad of trouser clad legs. I think I must have cried out, because all of a sudden I felt hands on me, when a drunken women with a man attached to her waist bent quickly and scooped me up, much to my horror. Her breath was fetid and she leaned in, cooing “little one, where is your maman?” I remember the man pushing back my curls… I felt suffocated and panicked… I don’t remember much then but I know what I have been told. I bit the woman who promptly dropped me and then I began to shriek hysterically. I was inconsolable, Fleur had found her way to me and tried to calm me to no avail. I screamed and screamed til blue in the face before Fleur grabbed my hand and hauled me from the theatre. It was only outside in the fresh air that I stopped my shrieking, but I still trembled like a leaf and wouldn’t respond to Fleur’s angry questions as she pulled me about.

She dragged me home to La Jonquiere and received a sharp slap across the face from Mrs Sadler. The Irishwoman’s accented French ripped from her in her fury “What were you thinking, bringing her to a place like that! All those people? You could have lost her! Sure, look at the size of her!” before pulling me up onto her thick and warm lap were I still shook badly, while she sat cooing to me in her soft Gaelic lilt “Ciúnas mo chailin, you’re grand. Ciúnas. Ciúnas”.

“You were supposed to bring her begging, not bring her back here shaken like she has seen a ghost and purple from screaming her head off! I don’t let out my kids to be brought back in this state. You had better have a good explanation, girl.”

Fleur looked at her solidly, hand raised to her scarlet cheek saying nothing before Mrs Sadler held out her hand and said simply “ Donnes le moi.” Fleur looked at the hand and back up before Mrs Sadler continued in French “Don’t play stupid, I know your game. You didn’t just bring her for the begging, she was there to be a distraction too. Give me what you pickpocketed”. Fleur glowered muttering a low curse before dipping her hand to the tear at her waist and pulling out a small purse, filled with a few Francs and an almost empty flask. “Pretty poor pickings, wouldn’t you say? “ Says Mrs Sadler as she examines the paltry booty.

“I would have had much more, if the little shrimp had not started with the dramatics. “ This gained her another sharp smack from Mrs Sadler before she says “go along now and don’t come back, I won’t be renting her out to you again. And you can leave that. Consider it a surcharge” she said indicating the meagre goods now sitting on a side table. Fleur quickly took her leave and Mrs Sadler turned to look at me, still cradled in her arms. Switching to English she asks me “Are ya alright now my lovie? Sure, there is nothing at all to be scared of. Is there?”. Not convinced I nod my head vigorously. “There is?” She replies “and what is that?

“I was all alone Mrs S” I respond in the same language, my bottom lip trembling as I fought off tears. “I was all by my own self and I couldn’t see anybody and I thought I’d be lost forever.”

“Now, now, mo chailin. You don’t ever have to worry about that, sure, you have me, and I’d come for you, no matter where you were, I’d find you anywhere. Now my lovie, you’re very tired. Off to leaba with you and I don’t want you to be worrying about such silly things any longer. Are you right?”

I sniffed and offered her a smile as I took myself up the creaky stairs to bed. Smiling as I remember her warm arms and her soothing words. I’d never be alone. I’d never be lost. No matter where I am. Mrs Sadler would come for me. She would find me. I remember feeling comfort, knowing my place was beside her at La Jonquiere. That I belonged here, and that nothing could harm me.

 

At rue de La Jonquiere we were all on the wrong side of the law in one way or another. However at Mr Dufour’s locksmiths we were rather the kind of thief greased the wheels for other thieves who wore more the type to get their hands dirty. If anything, we were entrepreneurs. People would stop by our shop and like magic, things would appear from shoes, collars, cuffs or bags. They were better than the illusionists that performed around the Sacre Coeur or the artists at Montmartre. For me the margaux (thieves in other words ) who passed by our little shop were the true artists of Paris.

There would be a knock at the door Mr Dufour would greet the person with a cautious “Bonjour mon comrade, have you got something that I might find interesting?” To which they would always reply “I have something most interesting Monsieur Dufour. Then he would invite them into the shop, closing the curtains and locking the door before leading him to the back room where a fire always burned, no matter what the time of year. Mrs Sadler sat in her creaking chair beside the fire feeding a baby and offered tea before the thief lay down his wares on our kitchen table. They would unveil sometimes marvels, and sometimes significantly less so. Mr Dufour would always take his time and slowly fondle the silver kitchen ware, the silk scarves or stockings, the different bijoux and watches. His face, always so hopeful would turn sour and he would heave a have Gallic sigh. “I do not know what you can expect me to say about this. I will have great difficulty to shift any of this.” Looking at the shifting thief over the gleaming objects he would look again at the pile and hesitate, as if seeming he was afraid of offending the man before naming a price. Always such a low price. The thieves would always refuse but by then Mr Dufour would have started counting out the Francs, glinting in his hand before saying, you are welcome to try elsewhere my friend, if you want to risk it but I can do only what I can. If I cannot move it, I could get caught with it… there are downsides on both sides my friend.” The thief would look at the money in Mr Dufour’s hand, look at the objects on the table before heaving a sigh and pocketing the money before shouldering himself out the door. As soon as the door was fastened tightly behind him Mr Dufour would let out a short laugh, rubbing his hands together gleefully before once again examining the goldmine on the table. Mr Dufour could make twelve or thirteen franc profit from a man like that, all by seeming reasonable, fair and cautious.

I learned many things at La Jonquiere though I did not learn what I assume other little girls did, I learned not my letters or how to read, though I have always been good with numbers. Instead I learned things which I considered to be of much greater use. I learned to to do maths, counting being an important skill in our game, and to cipher, to tell a good coin from a bad just by the ring of its metal. I learned how much a girl costs, how much a candle holder, bracelet or silver watch could sell for. I learned to melt down metals and to pick almost any lock. I was already bilingual due to my unconventional upbringing, having my own Irish brogue when speaking English, though Mrs Sandler taught me a passing English accent I could put in needs be, though I had never been there. These linguistic skills along with my fluent French and English and a scattering of sentences and phrases in Irish were considered rare enough among our peers. Mrs Sandler was certain it would come in use later on in life although I was unsure how. I learned to plan, I was quite the gifted planner... I'd organise the job for a small fee and the dogers would execute it. I learned to lie, that was possibly the most useful thing I learned at La Jonquiere. I learned lying in itself is an art, and that it can be the difference between a rise and a fall, or even in some cases life or death.

Our way of life could be considered an odd one by some but it is one we were made to. We were a box of odds and ends, all different, but somehow managing to slip into the box neatly together. Mrs Sadler was everything to me, and in all regards I considered the woman to be my mother, and she certainly doted on me well enough, the woman kept me around for sixteen years though she could have sent me to a work house or sold me to a brothel. Mrs S had several offers over the years for the latter, for I grew from the tiny wide eyed infant into what most would consider a very attractive young woman. Granted, I was still small (I forever think my mistreatment at the hands of the circus has left me stunted) but it never bothered me much. I possess a slim and petite frame but yet I am still thankfully graced with some feminine curves. I wear glasses but I do not think it takes from my overall appearance. My hair is a deep mahogany that is very long, thick and softly curls. I would say my most arresting feature is my smile. Though I’ve been told by many I have a nice face and beautiful eyes but it is my smile that garners most compliments. It is large, and I possess very white and even teeth, and though I was often conscious of my mouth being too big as a child I finally think I’ve grown into it.

And so you have it, my childhood. I grew up in the locksmiths that also served as a lodging house surrounded by people who came and went, people passing through, thieves and babies that Mrs Sadler took in and sold on. Everything seemed in constant flux at la Jonquiere, and even now the only think that seemed to escape this currant was me. I dare say I planned to stay at La Jonquiere forever, to marry some up and coming thief, to pop out a few children or even farm babies like Mrs S. But as fate would have it life had a much more in store for me.

As a child growing up Mrs Sadler  called me" Mo Stór” which is Gaelic Irish for my treasure. She told me often I would make all of their fortunes someday, though I was at a loss as to how I  could or would do this. She said this many times and I let her think it; for why shouldn’t I? I was her treasure that is all I knew, I was her stór and she loved me. So why should I tell her I could never possibly amount to her plans for me? I did it out of love. Why burst her bubble?

Love. I thought I knew what it meant, although I cannot say I ever learned much about it outside of the house. Mrs S was very protective of me, and though I attracted many admirers Mrs S would always chase them away, citing that boys are the downfall to every young girl, not that I was ever interested. I suppose I am losing myself in the tale, but I am just trying to give you a clear picture of my upbringing, and how I saw the world.

 

I’m sure you are waiting for me to begin my tale, but you see that is the point. My story had started long long ago only I, like you now, was unaware.

 

So ill begin at what I believed to be the beginning.

It was a cold an bitter night in the middle of winter a few weeks after the Christmas festivities that I claimed as my own 18th birthday. It was bitingly frigid, and the rain lashed down outside us in the locksmiths, it was dark and the wind howled.

Cold as it was, downstairs where we sat huddled was always warm, the fire always going and Mr Dufour brazier always lit. On this dark night we were not alone, around the scruffy kitchen table sat Mr Dufour, silently sharpening his tools, and Scott and Krystal, a boy and a girl who were lodging with us. Scott was a lanky scruffy looking boy, about 19 or so, his eyes hidden behind glasses and an unruly mop of hair. We got along pretty well, he was a smart boy, and he possessed a quick wit and was a gifted fencing man.

Krystal was a slight blonde who had an affable nature but altogether was very dim. The couple seemed an unlikely one, but seeing them together warmed the heart, Scott would patiently explain things over and over to Krystal, and Krystal would show him open affection and sheer awe at pretty much everything he said.

Mrs S sat as always in her chair, rocking a baby while I played memory at the table.

That is when we heard it. A loud bang. With it came a sudden blast of cold air that caused the fire to leap in the grate and the candles to hiss. We all looked at one another… such things never bore good tidings at this time of night. Another thump rang out and Scott hissed “Should we hide the stuff?” getting a nod form Mr Dufour Scott gathers up the afternoon’s booty and heads up the stairs.

Then came a loud series of impatient raps from the door and Mr Dufour looked around before whispering to me “Cosima. You had better answer it.” With a tense breath I stood and strode to the door, heaving it open against the force of the biting wind. In the doorway stood a man, dressed in a dark coat, his hat pulled down low against the rain. “Cos? Cos? Who is it? “I hear Mrs S call and then he lifted his face, I let out the breath I had been holding while standing back to let him in. “C’est Le Monsieur.”

At this Mrs S stood from the chair and placed the baby she was holding in Krystal’s arms. “Monsieur!” She exclaimed, crossing quickly to place two kisses on his cheeks. “You scared us half to death! Krystal call Scott down here and put that baby upstairs. Cosima, put on some coffee I think we have some things to discuss.”

I turned to Monsieur and said “I thought you were the pigs!” before accepting his sodden coat. Monsieur smiled a knowing smile before saying “Well Cosima, haven’t you grown.” I blushed at this and busied myself with the coffee while studying him from the corner of my eyes. It was over two years since I saw him last though he had not changed much. His dark hair was kept at a medium length though his face was bare of whiskers, completely against the fashion of the time. Monsieur was considered a handsome man by many, he possessed large plump rosy lips, brown eyes and angular cheek bones.  He had a fairly slight frame, but was tall enough, with long legs and a certain air that carried him with grace.  He wore no rings and his hands were very pale except for the yellow stain that was now a part of his middle finger, he had long delicate fingers and short yet clean nails. I heard him cough and I look up blushing from his hands as he turned to stoop to kiss Mr Dufour, then Krystal, then Scott and eventually me. He smelled of cigarettes and rain.

There at our table he sat, dripping and sipping his tea while I continued to regard him slyly. We called him " Le Monsieur" but his true name was Felix Delvinquiere, he was after all aparently born into a rather well off family, and was considered to be Bourgeoise before he got disowned by his parents for gambling away his inheritance. He was about 24 and how he ended up rubbing shoulders with the likes of us is pretty obvious actually; with his general distain for honest work he took to the lawless life quite admirably. Monsieur was more of a conman than a margaut, he was always working on some con or another, his gentry skill set eased him along for the most part, getting him access to the right people but he was yet to make a big score. Le Monsier spoke passable english and he was by all rights quite the accomplished painter, I dare say if he was not so loath to labour he could have made quite a name for himself; but that is neither here nor there.

Mrs S sits herself back in her chair and I distribute the coffee. Everyone is silent before Mrs S sighs and speaks up “So Monsieur. Do you have something you need to get rid of?” Monsieur laughs and shakes his head “Always the business woman Mrs Sadler. No, I have not got anything I need to get rid of, more so I need to acquire something, if you will.

Mrs S sat up, interested and said “is that so? What is it we can help you acquire Monsieur?”

 “It is not what Mrs S. It is who. I am hoping you will lend me assistance for a particularly…Lucrative endeavour.”

" Really?" Continued Mrs S “and what kind of assistance do you need?”

And that’s when he turned, and his eyes fell to me.

 

“I need her, Mrs S. I need Cosima.”

“Me? What on earth do you need me for?!"I exclaim jumping slightly in my seat at the mention of my name.

Monsieur stared at me steadily and took a deep breath before continuing “I have a proposition for you Cosima.” There is a loud shriek as Krystal squeals “Oh my god he wants to marry you!” My heart clenched and I looked around in a panic, a loud NO screaming through my mind and supressing the urge to laugh nevously.

Monsieur scowled at her and lets out an impatient noise “Not that kind of proposition. I need your help with another matter.”

Mrs S cut in with a sharp tone “Get on with it then Monsieur. We haven’t got all night.

"The proposition is this. There is a place, a little out of Paris where an odd man, a scholar of sorts lives in a manor. By rights he is a wealthy man but cares little for money, preferring to dedicate himself so his studies an assortment of odd hobbies. One of his hobbies being the binding of prints he has made up to suit is fancy. I being rather artistically inclined responded to his advertisement in the paper and was seen fit to do the task. I travel to the manor and take up my part time residence.”

At this stage the suspense was killing me, after all I never have been the most patient of people “So what do you want me for Monsieur? You want me to help you rob the place? I should tell you now, Im the planner, I dont to the deed. Its not really one of my skill set."

“ Shh Cosima. I am getting there. Now where was I.... yes.  So I take up residence in this manor house and begin the mind-numbing and painstaking labour of creating the mans prints when.... someone comes to my attention.”

Mrs S cut in “Someone?”

“A niece. Cosima’s age, and a beautiful creature to say the least, but as naïve to the world as a child.”

"Is she rich?" Asks Krystal.

"She is rich, yes. Not that it means anything to her, oh no. You see it is an odd situation. She is an heiress, but can only access the money IF she marries. If she doesn’t marry she never inherits. Beautiful as she is she has not got any prospects as all, her uncle, that peculiar man keeps her locked away from the world. “

“How rich?” asks Scott.

“Oh Scott. She is as rich as a queen. 20.000 Livres in funds and 35.000 Livres in bond.”

"And you say she has no prospects...?" says Mr Dufour slyly.

Monsieur looked at his hands and laughed lightly "No indeed, she does not. Her uncle uses her as a secretary of sorts helping him with the compiling of his life’s work. She writes and reads to him for hours on end though I doubt he even notices her. It seems he hardly knows she is a lady” Monsieur finishes with a smile.“It seems she notices me though. I am working there a week when she discovers her desire to learn to paint, so being the gentleman I am I propose my help by giving her lessons. Things are going very smoothly for several weeks and are developing nicely when… disaster strikes. Our lessons are cancelled. Her maid develops scarlatina and must be sent away, the housekeeper has no time to chaperone our lessons and as we all know it would not be proper to give her instruction alone. So alas, our lessons are called to a halt, I see her no more and there is a spanner in the works… and just when we were getting along so nicely."

“So where do I come in?”

“Where do you come in sweet Cosima? I aim to marry her and take her money. I plan to get her to run away with me right under her uncle’s nose. As I have told you, I have done well enough already but I am running out of time, for my works on the prints will not g on forever… I have told you she is a naïve sort of girl, but she is also rather strange in her ways. If she hires another servant who could take a dislike to me then I am ruined. And this is where you come in Cosima. I am in Paris for five days stocking up on materials, I want to send you ahead of me. I want you to become this girl’s maid. I want you to befriend her and I want you to help convince her to marry me. “Lowering his voice, he continued. “ But that’s not all…. I am not one… for married life. When the deed is done I want to get rid of her. It is easy enough actually. I have a man who will take her, the scoundrel, for a heavy fee, into an asylum.”

“Why bother going to so much trouble? Why not just keep her somewhere far from you, like a country house?  You would barely have to see her. Why an asylum?” I feel my brow furrow, it seems very cold for my tastes... I had never been much of a fan of this side of dodging; the murders, long cons, and kneecappings never sat well with me.

"You don’t understand. I don’t want a wife. I must marry her, and bed her once for the sake of legality and then I want to wash my hands of her. Trust me… it is the more sympathetic of the options" he finished with a dark look. “But I want you to be by her side and keep her happy, keep her in line and distracted, convince her that running away with me is the best thing she could possibly do. It shouldn’t be too difficult. As I said, she is an odd one, and naïve as a duckling. It will be child’s play."

We stared at each other through the silence before we heard Mrs S cough and look at Monsieur with her eyes narrowed before letting out a harsh whisper, her Irish accent heavy on the french words coming from her mouth “Why Cosima? Of all the girls in Paris or France even, why my Cosima?”

Monsieur looked at her then me, and responded simply. “Because I need someone I can trust. Because I need someone charming enough. Smart enough, you can't deny Cosima is as sharp as a knife. I'd be hard pressed to find another like her. The girl is odd, but I think she is an intelligent young woman, I need someone who can engage with her on her level, keeping her distracted from my intentions. That's why I need Cosima.” Mrs S nodded and her gaze grew cold before asking “and how do you plan on compensating her for her troubles so?”

He looked at me again before taking a deep breath “4.000 Livres.”

 

That was the proposition.

We sat at the table in silence while I thought it over. I’m not sure how much time had gone by but eventually he spoke up again” Cosima, I know this is sudden but I had to act quickly. I’m only here for four more days. If you’re not interested tell me now so I can find someone else. I’d rather it be you but I don’t plan on giving up on this just because you aren’t interested.”

Everyone in the room turned to look at me, and I swallowed nervously. I supressed the urge to just walk out and took a deep breath. “I don’t know. I am not sure it’s the best plan, it’s very open to failure on all sides,a lot can go wrong. You're relying on many changeable variables. I mean, I don’t even know anything about being a maid, I wouldn’t know what to do, or how to talk or anything” I say, my hands flying through the air.

“We can teach you Cosima” said Monsieur. “ You’re a smart girl. You’ll pick it up in no time.”

“Yes, well… what if she doesn’t like me? Or even before that, what if she doesn’t want me for her maid. She must surely have other applicants."

 

Monsieur tossed his head impatiently "Let me worry about that. So does that mean you’re in?" I looked at him through narrowed eyes "I still don’t know… what if she isn’t as into you as you think she is? What if she doesn’t want to marry you?"

 

At this he laughed before continuing, a distinct note of triumph in his voice "You could not possibly understand now but you will… the girl is trapped in what is essentially a prison. She longs for freedom… and I am the only one who can give it to her. There will be no problem on that end.”

As I once again ruminated in silence came Krystal’s small voice, almost in a whisper: “Isn’t it very terrible to do what you are going to do though? I mean, you are going to steal her away thinking she is going to be free and then you’re going to put her in an asylum.”

Monsieur turned to her and laughed “Of course it’s terrible, but without great risk there is no great reward.” Before turning back to me and saying “4.000 Livres Cosima. That is more money than most people ever possess during a lifetime. You would be rich. You would all be rich.”

My entire life here I had been called “Mo Stór” and I thought about this as I turned to face Mrs S, she looked tense, and even fearful though perhaps I am only projecting that, knowing what I know now. I would make them all rich she had said… perhaps she was right. I gathered myself, ajusted my spectacles on the bridge of my nose and turned to look Monsieur straight in the eye.

“No. I won’t do it.” In saying that I saw him visibly deflate before continuing. "But not for 4.000. You can pay me 5.000 Livres or find someone else. There is another thing. I want 500 for trying, even if she changes her mind or doesn’t like me, I won't come back empty handed. Those are my terms.”

Monsieur narrowed his eyes at me before scowling and huffing an agreement. We shook hands and all of a sudden the room exploded around me. Monsieur and Mr Dufour were laughing and Scott and Krystal were shouting I was going to be rich, I saw Mrs Sandler stand and slowly walk towards me before gathering me into her arms and whispering in English “ I always knew you would make us rich one day mo stór. I’m so proud of you” I melted into her hug and tried to bite down the panic that threatened to choke me.

I remember thinking; "What have I gotten myself into?"

 

 

 


	2. There is going back now.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ok guys here is the second chapter: its not going to be the usual thing to so two chapters in one week but I was having fun with it and procrastinating for my exams so enjoy :D The next chapter is goona be when the fun really starts so gear on up!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 2: An argot is a secret language used by various groups—e.g. schoolmates, outlaws, colleagues, among many others—to prevent outsiders from understanding their conversations.
> 
> Ok guys I’m from Ireland originally but I live in France, I speak Irish as my first language so I wanted to include bits of it here and there. Mo chailin means my girl, Ciúnas means Hush or quiet and mo Stór means my treasure and mo chraoi means my heart and Tabhair aire duit féin mo chailin deas.” Means take care of yourself my lovely girl! :D Voilà!
> 
> https://www.tumblr.com/blog/yetanothereireannach

  

The Manor was located about 30 odd miles to the north or Paris, in a village called Pont-Sainte-Maxence. The man who owned the Manor was called Aldous Leekie, a bookish and eccentric man who seldom left the Manor, his niece was, Mademoiselle Delphine Cormier a girl my own age who was apparently as odd as her uncle. Le Monsieur’s plan was to send me ahead and follow me three days later but the next day he received a letter from Mr Leekie assigning him a new task of finding a rare copy of a book. When he received the letter he cursed, for this was to slow him down and keep him in Paris for another week or more.

My heart sank at the knowledge that he would not be following me directly. The idea of travelling alone and inserting myself into the fabric of the house was not one that I relished. I have never been further then le Marais from La Jonquiere, having everything I needed in my world readily available in Pigalle or Montmartre. I was a city girl, bred to it and comfortable in the myriad of dirty winding streets. The country was a bizarre notion to me, and the fact I would be taking up residence in a grand old Manor in the middle of nothingness did little to still my anxiety. However le Monsieur insisted I go almost immediately, time being of the essence… the girl could take another maid at any time and then Monsieur would be truly scuppered.

The night I agreed to the monsieur’s plot (after a brief drink of celebration) le Monsieur sat down at the dark kitchen table and wrote a letter to this Mademoiselle Cormier. I do not remember much of the content, it after all being so long ago… but I do remember Le Monsieur writing some tripe about "excusing himself for taking the liberty to write", and then he introduced me briefly as the daughter of his nanny who raisedhim as a child, he said I was looking for a place far from the city after my mother having died and me needing a change of scenery. It was the utmost drivel, but he seemed sure it would be sufficient to gain my place.

I had my reservations about the letter but it was not my area of expertise so I left him to it, Monsieur was so sure of success but to be honest part of me believed that none of this would ever come to fruition. You can imagine my secret chagrin when her letter arrived a day later in response; “I would love to meet her, please send her as soon as possible, for I am sure I’ll love her for if she is an acquaintance of yours, I am well assured to the quality of her character. I wait for your return with baited breath.” I swallowed deeply and tried to hide my discomfort and tried to pretend to be happy… Mrs S was delighted, that is what I held on to. That is what kept me going.

As soon as Monsieur received the letter he was filled with a triumphant yet nervous energy. As he looked over at me, the letter held open in his hands, he breathed a long sigh, letting his eyes travel over my colourful dress that I had made myself, then to the innumerable bangles that jangled on my wrists, to my hair, for my dark curls swept back into a loose bun and tied with a burgundy scarf. I was always considered somewhat of an oddity in Pigalle, even among the whores and crooks I stood out. I had always loved colour and I found little of that in the fashions girls tended to wear in those days, Mrs S let me wear what I would so I made my own clothes to suit my fancy, but I could see then as Le monsieur looked me over, a slight grimace setting upon his chiselled features, that it would not do at all.

Taking a deep breath he said “Let’s start with the hair.” Monsieur had me wash and comb out my hair, an agonising endeavour, for I dared not grace my head with a comb more than once a fortnight. He then had me divide it once, a very boring look let me tell you, especially on the streets of Pigalle, and then pin it up to the back of my head. He then had me wash and do the same to Krystal’s hair, while directing me sternly; it was of the utmost importance I did it correctly, as it would be one of my tasks for Mademoiselle Cormier at the Manor.

Monsieur then sent Scott out with a list of things that I would require at the Manor, and he arrived two hours later, huffing and red-faced pulling a heavy trunk with him through the door. In the trunkwas a plain Bordeaux coloured dress, the same deep red as a rich Merlot. I cannot say I was overly pleased with what I considered to be the drabness of the dress, but at least it was not brown. In the trunk were also stockings, a thick and cumbersome cloak and ladies underthings. The underthings funnily enough turned out to be a challenge, as unlike the girls in Pigalle, who wore stays and simple drawer’s ladies I soon discovered, wore an assortment of ever more complicated underthings. Seeing my confusion lifting the fabric Monsieur smiled and laughed confidently “It’s not as hard as it seems Cos. Trust me.” before throwing me a wink while I let the fabrics run through my hands with an exasperated sigh. The Monsieur ordered Krystal to strip down to her stays and drawers and stand before me, and said we had little time for modesty.

“Now Cos. Imagine Krystal is Mademoiselle Cormier, it is one of your tasks to dress her. So pretend you’re starting with the stockings and drawers.”

I turned to look at him with eyebrows raised “Drawers… what do you mean drawers? Surely she will already be wearing those.”

Monsieur laughed and said “Don’t take Krystal here as example, in real life Mademoiselle Cormier will be absolutely nude, it is your job to take her clothes as she removed them, and hand them to her and aid her to put them on.”

The thought of tending to a completely nude stranger had never even crossed my mind and I blushed. Monsieur saw me colour and mocked me lightly, “Come now Cosima, it is nothing you have not seen before. Now, when she has her drawers on what must come next?”

I shot him a scowl as I repositioned my glasses upon my nose before huffing a short grunt of “The chemise… obviously.”

Monsieur smiled sarcastically, sitting on the chair with his legs crossed and his hand dangling lazily over the side of the table “Indeed it is her chemise, but be careful to warm it before she puts it on, ladies can be ever so particular about such things.”

This earned him another scowl before I took the thin fabric and held it up contemptuously before the fire before turning and slipping in over Krystal’s head. The list went on and on, next came the corset that I had to tighten so tight my hands looked caned from tugging at the laces, then came the camisole, and after that a crinoline cage, followed swiftly by petticoats and followed at last by the dress. Throughout all of this I had to constantly mutter directions, “Mademoiselle this, mademoiselle that, would you like it looser? Tighter?” At the end I had worked myself into an exhausted state, red in the face and chest heaving, but Krystal was dressed, and she was dressed well.

Next came the speech… Indeed bilingual as I was I spoke a very familiar form of French, one not suitable at all for a grand household. Vous was something that I struggled with for was not used to assuming others had a form of authority or superiority over me. It was not a reflex for me to use the grammatical form, in our quartier tu was the predominant form of you. Vous was used to indicate distance or respect, but us thieves, we were all of the same set, no one was better than anyone else… we were not submissive to anyone, so tu was not only appropriate, but comforting. However at this house I must use vous all the time, I must never slip, for fear of causing great disrespect and I must be less colourful with my language. I would not only have to convince Mademoiselle Cormier but also her Uncle and the other servants of the house… needless to say, I was feeling the pressure Monsieur grilled me over and over, he had me dipping into a curtsey so many times my head was spinning and told me to watch my gaze, stating it was to bold to be that of a maid, finally when I though he had finally done with me he asked me “What is your name?”

“Eeehhh Cosima… evidently.” I replied, tilting my head to the side and giving him a contemptuous gaze through my lenses. He sighed and said “Watch that attitude, maids do not back talk. Your full name. What is it?”

I couldn’t help but smile at his frustration “Isn’t it Cosima… Niehaus?”

“Niehaus?!” he said scathingly “Do you want to lead them right here if all goes to shit? And a German name to top it off? Come on Cosima. You’re not an idiot. So I’ll try again. What is your name?”

“Cosima. Cosima… Fournier.”

A slow smile graced his full lips “Fournier? Nice. French and a common name at that. It’s perfect.”

 

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Two nights later was due to be the eve before my departure before heading to the Manor. The eve night was one of festivities held specifically in my honour, but I cannot say I enjoyed it much though Mrs had sent out for a hot mushroom torte (my favourite) for dinner and we all drank red wine by the fire while Mrs S sang us sad songs and regaled us with tales of Ireland in a mixture or Irish, English and French.

I found I had no appetite and her soft songs in Irish spoke of loss and sorrow and I can only say that it further dampened my mood. I claimed I had a headache and took my leave early leaving Mrs S, Mr Dufour, Scott and Krystal to their party while retiring to my tiny room at the top of the staircase.

As I shut the door behind me I looked around the tiny room that had been my haven for over sixteen years. I surveyed at my smattering of books, embarrassing as it may seem… even though I could not read I enjoyed looking at them, wondering what the markings might mean or what mysteries they held, and I regarded them to be some of my favourite objects. I let my eyes linger over my few glinting trinkets, and looked down to my wrists to pull off my many bangles that wouldn’t be coming with me to the Manor. I gazed at the colourful rags that were tacked to the walls, adding colour and a more cosy feel to the tiny space. I felt tears sting my eyes and a lump rise to my throat and tried to firmly tell myself this was not forever, I would come home to La Jonquiere and home to Mrs S. However I would not come home empty handed… when I finally made it back to the streets of Pigalle it would be dressed in silk and money in my bag. I would be rich, and I would make us all rich in turn. Removing my glasses I let a few tears fall as I lay down and somehow fell into a deep sleep, lulled by the soft sounds of Mrs S’ crooning filtering up the staircase and the familiar smell of my kingdom.

That night I was woken with a start by Mrs S, sitting by my bed and stroking my hair softly. While I looked at her through blurred vision she shushed me soothingly in English “Shhh mo chraoÍ. I just wanted to make sure you were asleep. I don’t think we have ever been parted for more than a night, it will be odd to have you gone…but I want you to know how proud I am Cosima… I am so proud of you. I always said you would make our fortune mo stór, and thanks to you, we will be rich. No more dodging, no more struggling. Everything… everything will have been worth it.” She said, tears glinting in her eyes through the darkness.

As I looked up at her through my focusing and un-focusing eyes I saw her clearly for what seemed like the first time. I had always thought of her as beautiful and strong woman, but I saw now the deep lines set around her sky blue eyes, the dark hair streaked with grey. I took in the faded and patched dress and the harsh state of her hands, hands which I took in my own and before swallowing my doubts and fears, accepting her light kiss before she slipped from the room.

We had never talked about what would happen if we were caught, or what would happen if our plan was to fail, but I was a smart girl. I knew at best I would be imprisoned indefinitely, although that would be a very unlikely result. If we failed we would be hung, it was almost a certainty… but it was my job to make sure we succeeded and that Monsieur marry the girl, so fail I wouldn’t. I was determined. I would make all our fortunes. Even if I died trying.

 

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The next morning we parted with tearful goodbyes, Scott and Krystal each hugged me tight, and Mr Dufour gave me a warm smile and a chaste kiss on the cheek. I remember standing by Monsieur’s side as Mrs S tried to calm her shaking hands and offered me a watery smile, I remember her pulling me so her and muttering a string of Irish so fast that I couldn’t understand a word of what she had said. I remember being both shocked and touched by her reaction, as I had never seen her in such a state of distress before, and even as I pulled myself from her embrace I saw her blink back tears and open her mouth to speak and then closing it again wordlessly, before she uttered a simple “Tabhair aire duit féin mo chailin deas.”

Before I could say anything I was then rather unceremoniously pulled away by Monsieur who was beginning to panic: we were running late, a particular habit of mine, and he feared if we did not hurry we would miss our train altogether. As he bundled me into the carriage, I took one last look at the run down shop and the people before it and smiled, knowing nothing would be the same from this point on, I would come back a wealthy woman and all our troubles would be over. I was to take my train from Gare de Champs de Mars to the town of Chantilly, where I would be collected by the Manors steward, who would then bring me on to the out of the way village of Pont-Sainte-Maxence, where the Manor was located.

We arrived at the station with just minutes to spare and I will not lie, I relished the sight of Monsieur so flustered and dishevelled as he struggled to heave my trunk through the crowd, our tardiness leaving no time to hail a porter. Finally we arrived at the train just as the conductor was ushering the last stragglers on board, but then panic seized me… this was really happening. I had no time to dwell on my fears as Monsieur pushed by me to haul the trunk onto the train before putting his hand to the small of my back and leading me up the entryway. Before I knew what was happening the whistle sounded and he stepped back and then the train started to move. I saw monsieur blow me a kiss, then he turned up his collar and disappeared into the crowd.

I do not remember much of the journey, other than its tediousness but I know when I arrived it was dark, it was after all the middle of winter and the nights were short. I struggled with my trunk in the deserted station and looked around helplessly; I had been told that the steward would be awaiting me but he was nowhere to be seen. Sighing I pulled my heavy cloak around me and removed my glasses to massage the bridge of my nose when I heard my name and turned to see an old heavy set man with a stern expression on his face “ Mademoiselle? Mademoiselle Fornier from Paris? We have been waiting for you to arrive all day.” I stood and offered my most charming smile and dipped into a curtsey. “Yes. I am Cosima Fornier. Pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

He was a most disagreeable old man who somehow seemed to blame me for the length of time it took my train to arrive from Paris. I tried my best to be amiable but he tested even my resilient patience, although I did manage to glean some insight into the inner dynamics of the house. The coach ride seemed like an eternity and when we did arrive I was cold, tired and apparently very, very late.

As soon as we pulled up to the house a drab middle aged woman strode from the Manor and harshly told me to gather my things and follow her. Her name was Mrs Jaquard, the Housekeeper. Shushing me savagely she quickly led me through the house, I felt like a blind sheep for it was too dark to see my hand in front of my face, but by some miracle I arrived at the staircase without falling. I was then led silently, ever so silently led me up to a small and narrow room. Though not as small as my own in La Jonquiere I missed my own palace almost instantly, here the room was cold, and dark, and even with the light of my candle I could see it was more or less nondescript. Madame Jaquard huffed and told me to get some rest, that the hours were early ones and I was expected by Mademoiselle Cormier first thing in the morning. With that one sentence and nothing else she turned on her heel and left me in the frigid room with but a candle for company. I sighed and removed my glasses, placing them on the table before leaning and blowing out the candle, leaving me cloaked in darkness.

Tomorrow everything would be changed forever.


	3. Let The Game Begin.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ok guys... the game has started ;) The two finally meet :D :D Things are gonna get interesting fast.
> 
> This chapter is about Cosimas first day at the Manor, its pretty long but I was rather unwilling to divide it ( wanting to stay true to the book, and keep the pace moving). If ye think there is a problem with flow, please dont hesitate in letting me know- I appreciate any constructive critiscism :)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CHAPTER 3: Ok guys… I guess I just couldn’t wait to get INTO it. Beware, updates will not nearly we as frequent as they have been this week, I will aim for one a week. But indeed. Let the game begin: P
> 
> PS I know Evo Devo is Cosima’s thing but I wanted to incorporate their love of science and the possibility for making crazy science later into the story (NOT AN EASY TASK CONSIDERING THE TIME MY FRIENDS- them being women, and the science of the time also playing its part. ) SO before hating: Remember Cosima’s background in this story… and please don’t hate on me about making it Delphine’s thing to begin with!)  
> https://www.tumblr.com/blog/yetanothereireannach

**  Chapter 3: **

 

I awoke with a start to the sounds of deep bells ringing, it was still pitch black and there was no movement to be heard in the house. I sat up, disorientated and tried to make sense of where I was when it dawned on me. It was to begin today, but even all our planning and practise, I do not believe I was ready for the reality of the situation. Suddenly I felt like the fraud I was, and I was sure everyone would see through me in an instant… I mean what was I thinking? I have never even been in the same room as a maid, how on earth could I have convinced myself this was a good idea. I sat in the darkness and contemplated escape when I heard a soft movement on the other side of the wall. I sat up in the bed and fumbled through the darkness to light a candle, donned my spectacles and then I saw the other door. In my pokey little draughty room there were two doors, one I came in through last night, and another that had gone unnoticed until now. As I studied it I heard a soft creaking on the other side and stiffened, I will not lie, I had no idea who it could be and for a moment I was frightened but then then I heard steps move away and unable to sleep again I raised myself to get ready.

It was six o’ clock when someone finally called to my room and told me breakfast would be served downstairs. I was brought water to bathe with and I stripped and washed myself down in the frigid room before donning my Bordeaux dress and styling my hair in the unfashionable style that Monsieur had shown me. Nervously I opened my door, (the door I had come through last night) and descended the creaky stairs to the servant’s quarters. Luckily I bumped into a porter eagerly directed me to the servant’s pantry where I met the rest of the household staff.

There was Mrs Jacquard of course, and sitting to her left was the steward that collected me at the station and was called Mr Dubois, he had worked for Monsieur Leekie for over thirty eight years… I could not imagine anything more depressing. Then there was the cook, Madame Lachévre and the lesser staff that included myself, general maids called Lucille, Elodie and the young porter who had shown me my way named Jacques.

We ate quickly while Mrs Jacquard filled me in on my duties “As soon as you are done you are to go to Mademoiselle Cormier. She has requested to see you before she goes to her uncle so you should hurry. You should know she rises early. Very early. You are obviously expected to rise at the same time. At 8am you must escort her to her uncle and then be waiting for her when she is done at one in the afternoon.”

I nodded eagerly and tried to seem enthused but I remember I was getting more anxious with each passing second. As soon as the last spoonful of the morning porridge had touched my lips Mrs Jacquard was on her feet, ushering me to follow her with a harried air. I stood and followed but my legs felt like lead, every step up the creaking stairs leading me closer to Mademoiselle Cormier and to the beginning of the game. I call it a game but the stakes could not have been higher for both of us. For myself and Mademoiselle Cormier it was a game of life or death; for me it was either a fortune or the noose, and for her it was either a jilted suitor or the madhouse. We passed through the servant’s quarters into the house proper, and I was led down a handsome yet dark passage to stand in front of a heavy mahogany door.

Mrs Jacquard looked me over once, pursed her lips before knocking the door, waiting a beat before turning the knob and leading me in.

The room was large, and like much of the rest of the house I had seen so far rather dark despite the room being dominated by a huge bay window that let in the weak winter morning light. The walls were plastered and papered with a dark red motif and the floor was of solid oak. Heavy cumbersome furniture was scattered around the room but somehow it still gave the impression of being sparse. As I entered I looked around quickly for Mademoiselle Cormier but it seemed myself and Mrs Jacquard were alone. I glanced at the old woman but she gave no explanation as she walked to a heavy iron grate and stooped to put a few more logs on the spattering fire.

Then I heard a handle turn and I whipped around to see a door which seemed materialise in the wall open. I stood, heart beating wildly in my chest and tried not to seem too nervous as I finally took a look at this Mademoiselle Cormier- the mistress of the household and the poor unsuspecting fool that would make my fortune.

I will say first of all she was not what I was expecting, though I cannot be sure of what I was expecting in the first place. Oddly enough of all the things that I was struck by; it was her colouring that I noticed first, for she was not a typical dusky French maid at all.

Mademoiselle Cormier was blonde, and though her hair was tied back tightly I noticed a few corkscrew curls that escaped to fall upon her brow. She was tall, much taller than I, but I am considered short as a rule so perhaps that should not have been so surprising. She was slim, but still possessed a womanly form and was blessed with striking bone structure, pale ivory skin (I tended to sallowness and light skin was all the rage in those days) she had rich hazel eyes and from what I could see, a light smattering of freckles here and there. Monsieur had said she was beautiful, but she was much more than just that. Beautiful does not even begin to describe the woman stood before me.

I had seen beautiful women before, after all I was a Parisian and there were more than a few stunning whores on the streets of Pigalle but I can honestly say I was quite awed by her beauty. She was dressed simply in a dark green gown with an unusually high collar that snaked all the way up her long elegant neck and on her feet she donned a pair of dark ballerinas. She wore pale gloves, almost as pale as her own skin and no jewellery at all.

I thought she looked older than her years though she was said to be the same age as me; but I think that was due to what I perceived to be a weariness that cloaked her features. We stood, regarding each other in silence when I remembered my manners, dropping quickly to a curtsey and aimed my gaze at her right shoe.

Inclining her golden head to me she spoke in a light melodic voice “Mademoiselle Fournier. So you are to be my new maid? I hope you find it pleasant here at the Manor… I was so sorry to hear about your mother but perhaps it is indeed best to take a break from Paris. Can I ask, what is your first name?”

I lifted my head to look at her when she began to speak, she seemed distant yet nervous and as I saw a slow blush creep up her cheek I wondered briefly what she would have to be nervous for.

I smiled and dipped my head respectfully “Bonjour Mademoiselle Cormier, I am sure I shall like it here and I thank you very much for taking me on. Indeed it is good to get away from Paris… there are too many… memories there." I pretended to struggle with emotion for a second before continuing-"I hope you will find me to be a satisfactory maid. I’m Cosima. Cosima Fournier.”

Mademoiselle Cormier looked briefly at Mrs Jacquard who seemed to be watching the interaction with some form of amusement. “That will be all Mrs Jacquard.” She said in a rather cold tone. The old woman hesitated and then huffed before moving to the door. My eyes followed her out the before I turned to see Mademoiselle Cormier approaching me. She stopped about a foot before me and regarded me curiously before saying absently “Cosima? What an unusual name.” before motioning me to follow her to a low chaise longue and then sit down beside her.

I took this as a signal to dip my hand to my pocket and bring out the character reference that Monsieur had written for me, as she took it with an elegant hand and unwrapped it, and I tried not to tremble as she read it through… this being the make or break moment. She read it quickly and glanced at me, and unreadable expression on her face before a red blush crept up her cheeks. I panicked for a moment, thinking she had seen through the lies but then she turned and sighed deeply, saying “Well, Monsieur Delvinquiere speaks very highly of you. He was so kind to think of me when I lost my maid, and to send you to me! He seems such a kind man.” She gushed, and I remember thinking, he was right. She is head over heels for him already. This is going to be easy.

I tried not to smirk before she continued “All seems in order and I’m sure Monsieur Delvinquiere has told you my uncle is a collector of sorts. There is an extensive library that takes up a whole floor of the Manor and he, we I should say dedicate our lives to cultivate it. You shall learn that books are something of importance in this house.”

I stiffened at this, the slow dread crept over me and settled in my bones as she uttered “And you Cosima, you enjoy reading surely? I should hope so, for there is little else to do here.”

She said this not with a smile, but more a neutral mask that betrayed no emotion. I took a deep breath and just decided just to be honest, better she dismiss me now before Monsieur was to return to the Manor, than later when there was no going back.

“Well Mademoiselle Cormier, I cannot say I do enjoy reading.” Her eyebrows raised at this and I ploughed on, the words leaving me in a rush. “However I’m sure I would enjoy such a thing. If I were able.”

Her eyebrows rose higher before she asked rather bluntly “You cannot read?”

“No.”

“At all?” came her baffled response.

“Words no. Numbers yes. But I do learn quickly Miss Cormier I would be happy to, if you were so inclined that I should.”

The blonde narrowed her eyes at me and bit her bottom lip before continuing “I am sure you are exaggerating… perhaps indeed you may not be the most fluid reader but I am sure you must have some capability. Here, take this, open a page and try to read me something… anything.”

She handed me a small bound book and I looked at it hopelessly, knowing this would be the end, cursing the Monsieur for not having thought of this. Obviously a Mistress of a grand house would not want an illiterate maid, incapable of reciting her poetry or reading to her or doing whatever other nonsense ladies maids do while waiting on ladies.

She stared at me, a resolute look in her eyes, and her mouth set in a firm line before saying “Go on, any page at all shall do.”

I looked at the book and opened it to the middle. I saw the black print squirm before my eyes, illegible as it always has been. My eyes scan until the bottom of the page when I see a number jump out. I raise my eyes to her and smile weakly: “Forty-Six?” Her brow scrunches and she walks to me quickly taking the book from my hand and glancing to the bottom letting out a short mirthless laugh. “Indeed. Forty-six. And that is it… you can read nothing else at all?”

“No Mademoiselle Cormier.”

“What about writing?”

I took a deep breath, shame creeping up to stain my cheeks crimson “My name miss. My first name. And most numbers. ” I stood despaired, while she continued to study me with great interest, her gaze impenetrable before taking the book and releasing her lip from its vice like grip from between her teeth. “Well, Cosima. May I indeed call you Cosima? I hope indeed you settle in well here. And I do hope that we become friends, after all we are two girls so close in age. You will soon find there is little in the ways of occupation here at the Manor, and I hope you shall not find it too dull after the excitements of Paris. If you need anything be sure to let me know won’t you?” I must go to my uncle now but I shall need you to arrange my things and collect me at one.”

My jaw almost comically dropped open at the knowledge I was to stay, so sure I was of my dismissal but I thankfully managed to refrain, instead I swallowed, graced her with a nervous smile and said “Yes Mademoiselle Cormier.”

She paused a second, evidently thinking it over before saying lightly “Mademoiselle Cormier is a bit formal. I am so sorry I forgot to introduce myself, but there is no need to call me Mademoiselle Cormier. Delphine will do just fine.” she said before offering me the first smile since our meeting. It was something that spread slowly, unveiling the deep dimples embedded in her cheeks. The smile provoked one of my own and I felt myself break out into a grin, as relief and something akin to gratitude washed over me.

“Yes Miss Delphine.”

She then raised herself from the sofa and let herself out before stopping a second in the doorway and smiling again, dimples making a sly appearance once more before saying “Oh, and Cosima?...Enchantée.”

I paused a second, before offering my own smile and responding with a curtsey muttering my own slightly hoarse “Enchantée” before she turned on her heel and left.

 

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As soon as she left I walked swiftly to the sofa and slid down onto it slowly, my heart was beating ten miles a minute and I was quite shaken. I felt quite unlike myself but it was due to more than just the tension, embarrassment and relief of the last few minutes, though I am certain they also played their part.

I tried to calm my furious heart but ignore the thoughts that flooded my mind. It was really happening. I had just met the real, living, breathing girl that I was to swindle into the arms of a conman and rob her blind. This girl, once married to a man who would love her for nothing more than her purse would be sent to a madhouse, and though I knew what I had signed up for, I do not think until that moment I had appreciated the scale of the dastardly deed I was to have a hand in. However, I was beyond going back, and I certainly wouldn’t return empty handed… I would follow through and harden my heart. After all, this girl was nothing to me, but I girl whom I had just met. I had Mrs S in mind, and I steeled myself. I would have a week, two maximum to begin to plant the seeds of romance between Monsieur and her, and I would put them to good use.

Mademoiselle Cormier… or Miss Delphine I suppose, had told me to tidy her things, composing myself I looked around the parlour, where there was little if anything to be done. My gaze then fell to the door that Miss Delphine had entered through that morning, the door to which I assumed quite rightly must be to her bedroom. I turned the handle and entered and took in the room, which was large and slightly handsomer than the parlour; painted a deep ivory and panelled in a soft blue. Much like the parlour the room seemed strangely bare, the only furniture of prominence being the large four poster bed that stood against the far wall. A few paces from the bed I saw another door, and curious I opened it only to find my own tiny bedroom and trunk. Suddenly the creaking by my doorway last night made sense, and though still discomfited I was, I was in some way relieved; glad to know it was not some strange fellow prowling the corridors at night.

I closed the door and turned again to the mistresses’ room and I took in my surroundings; it was in fact not quite as bare as I had originally thought; this was an illusion due to the majority of the furniture being painted the same colour as the walls. In the room were a table and chairs that sat by the window, a large bookshelf, a small divan, a tall, wide wardrobe that I opened to unveil her dresses and underthings and a small vanity table that was adorned with nothing but a small pot of crème. As I studied the table I noticed that mounted into it on the right side were a narrow set of drawers. I pulled at the top one cautiously but was disappointed to find it locked, I tried the second and pulled it open, startled to find it filled with an innumerable pair of gloves, all identical to the pair that was donned by the mistress this morning. I shrugged and closed the drawer, but while doing so I caught my reflection in the mirror. I saw my bespectacled eyes widen as they took me in, my plainly dressed hair and in my sombre dress, still hunched over the mistresses’ things like some sort of goblin. I swallowed deeply and drew myself up to my full (though limited) height and tried to muster some sort of dignity. Thief of sorts I was, but I was never one to go rifling through peoples things. And I would not start now.

I looked around, hopelessly looking for something…anything to do and set myself to making, or should I say remaking the Mistresses bed (she had made a dire job of it). Then I straightened the few books that sat on her night stand, refilled the candles in their holders and emptied and refilled the grate of the fireplace. After that there was quite literally nothing for me to do. I would say it was scarcely ten o’ clock and I had nothing to occupy me until well after noon. I shrugged hopelessly and went to my little room to dig out my cards and play a game of memory or solitaire.

I remember that first morning vividly, because I remember how each minute seemed to drag on like an hour. I honestly at one point felt like I would die of boredom and when the time came to collect the mistress I almost wept with relief despite my nerves. I made my way uncertainly through the house to the library.

I stood before a heavy mahogany door to what would have been the cellar, but had been converted to this infamous library. There was something written in heavy black writing on a board and an odd sort of tassel that hung beside the door, I looked at it in confusion before pulling open the heavy door and descending the narrow steps. I walked down quickly, soon reaching a grand yet dark, wide room when suddenly I heard a loud screeching and spun to source of the sound. Sitting in the middle of the huge room was a much older man, well into his sixties. He was bald and pale, with a face as craggy and angular as a cadavers, he had weak pale eyes and was screaming at me. I stood, frozen to the spot as he screamed louder and louder, smattering himself with ink as his pen shook wildly in his hand. I looked to Miss Delphine who had risen from her small desk the moment I entered, almost tripping in her haste to reach me. Finally I registered the” GET OUT! GET OUT!” the old man was screaming and before I knew what was happening I was bustled out the door by the mistress, before she shut it firmly in my face.

I stood shaken as pushed my ear to the door and tried to hear snippets of their conversation. I heard a deep, angry voice spit “What on earth?!” and Delphine’s soft response “I am sorry Monsieur Leekie. She is the new maid… No…” her speech was interrupted by a loud sharp slapping sound and after a pause she continued “No… yes I am sorry. I’m sure she saw nothing. Yes…. It will not happen again.” I heard footsteps approach the door and moved away quickly. Delphine opened the door, a few errant curls had escaped from their binding to rest against her now scarlet cheek. She looked at me began to mount the stairs and gestured wordlessly to follow her.

I followed her trying to formulate an apology while processing what had just happened, when she stopped as she reached the tassel by the first door. Miss Delphine brushed the curls from her face and looked at me, her head raised high despite her slightly puffy cheek that blazed like a beacon. “I am sorry Cosima. You could not have known and I forgot to tell you this morning. Again I am sorry… It’s just.. Yes. You cannot read. But it is stated clearly here.” She indicated the heavy blocked writing. “This says under NO circumstances are the servants to enter this room. It is filled with expensive and… rare books among other things. My uncle is very particular about it. When you come for me you must pull this.” she said indicating the tassel. “When you do a bell rings downstairs and I come up to meet you.”

I finally gathered my wit’s and looked again at her cheek, something like guilt washing over me “Yes Mademoiselle… Delphine. I am so sorry if I got you in to trouble…” But the blonde raised a hand and cut me off with a slightly sharp yet seemingly sincere reassurance “it is no matter. It was my own oversight. You couldn’t have known. Well, now you do, and I hope you understand that under NO circumstances are you to go down there again. Trust me… you do not want to suffer my uncles displeasure. But let us go, I am hungry, and I am sure you are too.”

I drew a deep breath and cursed inwardly at the knowledge that I had now captured the attention of her uncle and master of the house and Miss Delphine’s apologies did little to quiet the butterflies that erupted since the encounter. We mounted the stairs and took up residence once again in her rooms, she surveyed her newly made bed and smiled before ushering me to the table where a steaming lunch awaited. I hovered between the table and the door waiting to take my leave but she gestured to the chair in front of her.

“Miss Cormier… am I to eat with you?” I cock an eyebrow puzzled.

She looked at me amused, her own eyebrow arching in return before sardonically trilling “Well… of course. Unless you are otherwise engaged?”

I had assumed I would be eating with the servants as I did breakfast but I just nodded and took my place opposite. She looked at me for a second, her hand poised over the silver heat retaining cloche. “You did not eat with your previous Mistress in Paris?” Miss Delphine asked, an intrigued look on her face.

I cursed my carelessness… for I had no idea if this was the usual arrangement or not. I decided to play it safe and deflect the attention from me to my “previous mistress”. “Well, my last Mistress was rather older… she preferred her solitude for her mealtimes. I would eat downstairs and join her after the meal.”

Miss Delphine nodded “I see. Well Cosima, I see no reason as to why we should not eat together, and I dare say I shall be pleased to have a maid my own age, my last maid was quite a bit younger, and I admit I found her tiresome and did not much enjoy her company. Of course there is Mrs Jacquard… “She paused smiling mischievously before continuing- “But I think we both can say quite freely she does not inspire idle conversation.”

I felt myself smile and chuckle lightly at this, indeed Mrs Jacquard was a most forbidding woman… I found myself rather unwillingly taking a liking to this Miss Cormier who seemed to possess a dry wit that rivalled my own. She smiled at me once, those dimples flashing, before unveiling our lunch of ratatouille with smoked ham and we sat and ate in a companionable silence. When we finished Lucille the housemaid appeared as if by magic to clear away the plates.

After we had finished she decided she wished to take some air despite the chill of the late February afternoon and we donned or outdoor things and made our way from the house, pausing briefly to smoke a cigarette. I shivered as she strode confidently around the overgrown and unkempt grounds of the manor, we passed a slow moving river and I observed her digging around in the reeds as she set about pulling a trap from the water’s edge. I remembered Le Monsieur saying she was odd and indeed it seemed so. I jumped at the shout of triumph she gave, finding a frog trapped within her cage and as I studied her, her face light up and beaming at the sight of a trapped frog and thought to myself… I wonder does this woman have a screw loose.

Still offering no explanation for her actions we walked to the back of the house, to a disused solarium filled with a long table, all sorts of debris and useless bits and pieces. In the solarium she had a large tub filled with water and plants. Miss Delphine plopped the cage down on the table and reached in confidently to pull the frog from it. I watched, baffled as she proceeded to turn the frog this way and that, studying it with great interest before sighing a low contented sigh and exclaiming softly “Yes. At last a female!” When she turned her face was lit up with pure excitement and joy and I could not help but smile in return I watched her carefully caress the frogs head before lowering it to the edge of the tub where it promptly leapt from her hand into the pool.

She straightened up, a happy smile on her lips as she pulled off her ruined gloves and donned another pair from her pocket. She must have been aware of my gaze because at length she lifted her head and looked at me before saying rather sheepishly “I am trying an experiment.”

My curiosity was piqued and I could not help but smile wider and ask, though it was probably not at all my place: “What kind of experiment?”

She seemed to contemplate whether she wanted to tell me for a moment, she narrowed her eyes and bit her bottom lip (a trait I seemed to notice was a habit) before telling me.

“I wish to study the evolution of the frog’s life cycle.”

I took off my glasses to wipe them, them having grown foggy from the change in temperature from outside to inside and observe her a moment before responding. “A Frogs… life cycle?”

The blonde regarded me haughtily and lifted her chin a little higher before replying “Yes. Frogs go throughout one of the most dynamic and observable metamorphoses in the animal kingdom, from spawn, to tadpole to froglets to frogs. I wish to observe it. I caught a male last week, but was having no luck with a female until today. It is the spawning season… I am hoping they will do it here… where I can observe the process.”

I was in a word… fascinated. I felt a smile beginning to form at the corners my lips and pull outwards, bursting into one of my fullest of smiles. I looked from her to the pool in excitement and I couldn’t help moving to it to caress the reeds and plants there. I saw a stirring under the water and I squealed in delight before turning to see her watching me, a peculiar expression clouding her features. I straightened up quickly, obviously worried I had forgotten myself and overstepped. I stammered “I am sorry Mademoiselle Cormier, it is just so… fascinating what you were saying. I quite lost myself in the excitement of it. I am sorry if I acted out of turn.”

Still with the same peculiar expression she shook her head quickly “Please Cosima, It is Delphine. And no. You did not act out of turn. Of course not. It’s fine. It is more than fine actually. Forgive me, I am just not used to people being interested in this sort of thing. My uncle disapproves… Strongly. And in fact this is a secret. He must not find out. He does not approve of my interests in the more masculine fields and he would punish me harshly if he were to become aware of my little… experiment.”

I cocked my head and observe her, she stood straight but there was a certain rigidity in her posture, she tried to feign nonchalance but there was an underlying fear in her eyes. I took in her bruised cheek she suffered on my behalf this morning and wonder if she is punished often. Smiling reassuringly I promise “I will tell no one Miss Delphine. But I was wondering if you could perhaps tell me a little more about how you set all this up and where you heard about… what did you call it? The metamorphosis of frogs?”

At this her face lit up and it almost floored me. I felt a tightening in my chest and a swooping in my stomach, which I attributed to guilt at the time. It seemd to be the logical conclusion for in a matter of weeks this girl would be the subject of an experiment herself, she would be at the mercy of the people of the asylum and I felt myself grow nauseous at the thought. Indeed. I thought it was guilt. And perhaps it was.

I shook the thought from myself and tried to involve myself in her enthusiastic response “Of course! Let me see… where do I begin… Have you ever heard of Charles Darwin...?”

 

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We talked for hours, though it did not feel like it. She described the experiment, her attempts create the right enclosure, the variables involved in such an experiment and how the right environment was essential. She told me about the famous naturalists Jean Baptiste Lamark and Charles Darwin and briefly explained his theory about the theory of natural selection, she has his book, her prized position but must keep hidden from her uncle.

I was enthralled. I felt like I was bursting, everything she was telling me just fuelled my need to know more, and I dare say I forgot myself and plagued her with question after question but to be fair to my mistress she responded in kind to my questions, obviously delighted at my interest she went into as much detail as she could, laughing joyously at my enthusiasm.

However as we returned to the house the more uneasy she became and soon the reason became clear. As Lucille and called her for dinner with her uncle, the happiness faded from her face and she once again looked weary before taking her leave. After her departure I followed Lucille downstairs for my own dinner in the servant’s quarter.

On arrival to the kitchen I was accosted by the rest of the staff, I had settled in and they finally felt at ease enough to plague me with questions: “how did I like my place. What did I think of Mademoiselle Cormier, What did I think of the Master? “

One of the kitchen girls close to me in age took a liking to me, she was called Elodie and sat herself next to me, and idly gossiping while I listened with half an ear until one thing she said caught my interest. “You know the Mistress had to send away her last maid rather quickly… she got herself in the family way. And the Mistresses nightmares, have you heard? Well she has had them since she was a child apparently. She wakes screaming at all hours….” But just then Mrs Jacquard passed and heard her idle whispering and hushed her savagely before telling her to get up and tidy the plates and directing me a gaze so sour it could curdle milk.

I stayed in the kitchen listening to the nonsense and chatter until I heard the clock strike nine I scaled the stairs once again to find Miss Delphine standing by her vanity table, the top drawer was open and from what I saw filled with what seemed to be papers. She jumped when I entered and muttered “Cosima. You are not usually due to come to me until half past nine. But it makes no matter.” Before quickly shutting the drawer and turning to me “I suppose you may as well prepare me for bed now… I am rather weary.”

And indeed she looked it, she had purple shadows under her light hazel eyes and her cheek bore a deep blue mark upon the ivory plain where her uncle must have struck her this morning. She saw me staring at it and quickly turned and moved towards the fire indicating I should follow her. Then the mistress raised her arms and I took this as the sign that I should begin to undress her. I swallowed my nerves and began the unbuttoning of her dress while she looked over my head. I stripped her quickly and efficiently, but I was admittedly trembling slightly as I pulled her free of her chemise, leaving her completely bare for but her drawers. I hesitated before lowering them and she seemed to find my hesitation odd, her eyebrows raised.

I felt the blush struggle to my face despite my best efforts to control it and I saw her smirk slightly at my discomfort. I felt rather obstinately about this and it gave me the courage necessary to lower the drawers quickly, stepping behind her to take her nightdress and hold it before the fire, observing absentmindedly the constellation of freckles that was dashed across her upper back, but I was also surprised to see her marked with a few fading bruises there too.

Miss Delphine stepped out of the underwear and turned back towards me, naked and unabashed before me. Needless to say I felt uncomfortable, to be truthful I had never seem another woman naked so close in my life, but I must say she was quite literally flawless. My gaze seemed to be nothing to her, as she stood before me I saw it all, her long pale neck and collar bone, her small but pert breasts, her defined waist and the dark blonde thatch of curls that was tucked between her long legs.

Finally deeming the nightgown sufficiently warmed I reached up to put it over her head, only to encounter a slight problem. She was taller than I, quite a bit taller. It was obvious by the amused smirk on her lips that the mistress had recognised the problem but still she made no move to make my task easier… Stubbornly I pushed my glasses back up to the bridge of my nose and stepped slightly closer to the nude woman, straining to keep both dignity and my balance as I stood on the points of my toes and half threw the garment over her head. I at least succeeded on getting it over her head this time and she chuckled lightly before deciding to put me out of my misery and bending slightly at the knees, allowing me to dress her properly and tie the fastenings of the gown. Finally she was dressed but after the exertions and stress of the activity I was left rather breathless and red in the face.

The tall blonde took in my puce visage and heaving chest and burst out in laughter “Cosima, your last Mistress… was she quite as small as you?”

Her dimples sunk deep in her cheeks, her eyes crinkled at the sides and shone brighter by the second. I struggled to keep the smile from my own face despite the fact my ego slightly bruised before saying “Indeed Madame Lacroix was not quite as tall as yourself Mistress. I dare say she was scarcely taller than me, but even so, there was usually a step around somewhere. It avoids me needing to hop.” I joke cheekily, cocking my head slightly to the side, regarding her through my lenses as my tongue makes a slight appearance from between my teeth.

At this she began to laugh in earnest, soft and melodious booms coming from her chest before struggling a weak “You are very cheeky Cosima.” between her fits of laughter. Calming herself she moved to her vanity table and I began to undo her hair and release the pins and binds that held in in place. Her hair was longer, thicker, blonder and curlier than I would have guessed, one cannot tell these things when it is tied back. It reached just past her shoulders even in its tight cork screw curls, and I absentmindedly pulled a curl straight to find it reached the upper mid part of her back. I had curls myself but they were nothing like these, hers coiled around each other in perfect harmony. She had a thick mass of hair, very light blonde at the crown, descending to a darker blonde underneath. I played with her hair mesmerised while she looked at me curiously in the mirror. “What is it? She asked me as she handed me the brush.

I took it from her and shook myself from my reveries “Nothing Miss. You just have really amazing hair.”

She seemed surprised and not quite sure how to respond when I told her this; she hesitated before saying “Thank you. You seem to have fine hair yourself, it’s very… lustrous.” I smiled and began brushing softly, detangling the curls. At length she was finally ready to go to bed, it was almost eleven and I was exhausted after my early start.

I pulled back her bedding and she stood from the table to walk to it. It was then in the candle light, her eyes trained on the window I was able to look at her fully, she looked younger now, perhaps her own age and I felt my breath catch in my throat and my heart pound. I studied her dressed in her simple white night gown, with her hair a wild gold mass or curls about her head, and her face caught the sympathetic lighting of the candle and she looked quite literally breath-taking. As her eyes flickered to me I tried to stop my gawping, blushing self-consciously and she slid under the covers into the bed, her lips were pressed into a grim line and a slight frown graced between her brows.

“Will that be all Miss Delphine?”

“Yes that will be all Cosima. Thank you.”

I took myself into my own cold room and undressed quickly, tiredness stinging my eyes and I let down my long hair, allowing it to cascade around me. I removed my glasses and fell into bed, falling asleep almost instantly.

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It was sometime later in the night that I was awoken from a deep sleep by a shrill scream coming from the room next to me, followed quickly by another. I scrambled for my glasses and fumbled to light a candle, jumping from bed and quickly grabbing the first object I saw, which happened to be a shoe and barrelled from the room. I am not sure what I planned to do but the screams drove me forward.

I hauled open the door and looked around in the weak candlelight when a scream rang out again. I ran to the bed to find Miss Delphine, sweating, her chest heaving, tossing and turning, her eyes open yet unfocused and hands flailing. I let out the breath I was holding, she wasthankfully alone but obviously in the grips of a terrible nightmare. I quickly dropped the shoe and placed the candle on the bedside table. I rushed to her side and tried to grab the flailing hands only to be struck in the face. I fell back to the floor cursing before deciding fuck it; and launched myself at the blonde, she fought me and screamed louder but I managed to catch her wrists and hold her down while muttering soothing phrases in English and Gaelic, the languages of my solace. This succeeded in slowly calming her “Shhhh Miss Delphine? It’s Cosima. Don’t be scared, it was just a dream, you’re grand. Ciúnas, mo chailin, Ciúnas.”

Slowly her eyes opened and she registered what surely must have been an odd sight: me straddling her, keeping her wrists pinned to the bed, bearing a scarlet cheek and muttering soothing words. She went slack in my grip and I released her, moving from on top of her to stand by the bed once more. She rubbed her eyes and regarded my cautiously-“Cosima… What? I am sorry… was I having a nightmare?

“Yes miss. I heard the screaming and I came to check… well, that you were quite alone. You were crying out so I was just trying to calm you.” She took in my skewed glasses and scarlet cheek, and raised a soft hand to stroke it gently “Did I strike you? I am so sorry Cosima!”

I tried to feign nonchalance, despite the fact her little crisis had me take quite the turn myself. “It is no matter mistress, you were dreaming... I should have known better than to try and wake a sleep walker.” and I offered her a crooked smile. To be truthful my cheek hurt like hell but the panic, fear and guilt in her eyes was enough to make me swallow any complaints and shake it off.

“Are you quite well now Mistress? I ask, my eyelids sagging under the weight of my desire to sleep.

“I… Yes. I should have told you before, I often get nightmares… since I was a child. You must think me foolish, a woman at my age but I am afraid I cannot help myself.”

“It happens to the best of us mistress.” I responded, uncertain of what to say.

“Could you pass me the things in the drawer of the bedside table please?” I reached and pulled out a small paper sachet that smelled rather pungent and a small clay pipe.

“I sometimes smoke this to sleep” she explains, taking both from me and opening the sachet to reveal a pungent yet sweet smelling dried plant. I think I’ve smelt it before but I cannot be certain. She takes a heavy pinch and pushes it into the end of the clay pipe before lighting it and inhaling deeply. The second the plant burns the smell becomes more intense and she smiles at me, before saying “Do you know it? It is Marijuane, ou L’herbe. It is good for insomnia.”

I shake my head intrigued as she pulls again on the pipe and exhales a heavy breath, her features relaxing and offering the pipe to me saying “You may sample it if you wish. It is just dried plant.” I accepted, taking my own heavy pull before coughing profusely.

 

She laughed and took the pipe from me exclaiming “it is not a cigarette! You must not inhale so deeply!” before passing it to me to try again. This time I feel my head grow cloudy and a light buzzing filter through my body. She then took the pipe gently from me, murmuring “I think that should be sufficient.” and passed it to me to tidy away into the bedside table. The room spun slightly but it was not at all unpleasant. Delphine seemed more relaxed but her brow was still creased into a frown.

“Well miss, shall you be going back to sleep?” She sighs before hesitating “Yes. Yes I shall. Goodnight Cosima and thank you.”

I nod and walk, (though a little unsteady on my feet) to my door before I hear her voice call out.

 

“Cosima? Do you think… would you mind…sleeping here? With me I mean. It really was the most terrible dream. And I fear I shall not sleep again.”

I hesitated, my thoughts sluggish and cloudy before acquiescing. After all she looked so scared, her eyes wide and pleading in the candle light.

I made my way to the other side of her bed and pulled back the covers and lay down. I felt her body relax as she lay down beside me, uttering a soft thank you before seeming to drift off into sleep. I reflected on my first day here at the manor and fell towards the cusp of slumber when I heard her ask, low but clear “Cosima… were you speaking English?”

I feigned sleep, not knowing whether I should admit such a thing or not. It was something unusual enough at the time and I did not want to draw attention to myself. I felt her wait for an answer, but with none forthcoming I soon enough hear her slow even breaths and allow myself to finally fall into the abyss.


	4. Battling Against Ones Better Judgement.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter Cosima gets to know Delphine better, their lives begin to intertwine and finds herself torn they do. When Monsieur returns to woo the lady of the house she finds herself more torn then ever, she is captivated by the blonde but her loyalty to her family keeps her from getting too close... or so she believes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Are people still reading this? I know it may be a slow burner but stick with it cos when it goes up in flames, it really does :P  
> Im changing the updates to thursdays btw! Weekends are crazy atm. And I’m ahead of the game lads, :D Ive got a few chapters tucked away but I shall refrain from posting them so I can continue to do one a week when exam times come. They approach soon. December is dark and full of terrors.
> 
> Just a heads up… there will be some talk of violence in this chapter, along with some descriptions of blood ect.

**Chapter 4:**

 

The next morning I woke suddenly, feeling someone was watching me. I was completely conscious in a second and turned my squinting eyes to see a blurry Delphine’s gaze trained on me, a frown set in place.

She looked away when she saw my eyes flutter open and coughed lightly. “Ahem. Well, Cosima… I thank you for keeping me company last night. I hope you were not too put out by having to share with me but my dreams were frightful and I found your presence most soothing.”

I had to say, she did look better than yesterday and even though her face still bore its bruise I could see the purple circles under her eyes had diminished and she looked slightly less pale. I smiled and reached for my glasses placing them on my nose and sighing contentedly as my blurry vision cleared.

Again she watched me, her head tilted and I grew uneasy under her gaze. I began to move from the bed before she called me back, I tuned to her to see a lopsided smile on her face before she asked “Cosima. Could I try your spectacles?” Laughing I passed them to her, and true to her word she tried them on and looked quite the sight; there she sat in bed, dressed in her pale white nightgown, her mass of curls wilder than ever and placed the glasses on her slender nose.

I observed her through my unfocused eyes and was amused to notice her already large hazel eyes were slightly magnified, giving her a rather owly expression and I couldn’t contain my laughter as she exclaimed “Cosima! You really must be blind!” before removing them, squinting and passing them back over to me. I replaced them gratefully and busied myself pouring her water to bathe with when she came behind me and pulled gently at one of my long lose locks. “Your hair is so long. You are lucky.” Before raising her arms, and (thankfully) bending her knees this time to allow me to pull off her nightgown.

Though still mortified at the whole process, I was slightly less embarrassed this time, I kept my gaze averted as she began to wash with the water in the small bowl. I went to her wardrobe and took her clothes and we began the lengthy process of getting her dressed. When we were done I dressed her hair, a task I enjoyed immensely and after that she sat at her little vanity table examining her bruise in the reflection. She sighed at her reflection, shooting me weak smile before we heard the bell toll. Her mouth tightened and she raised herself to pass me quietly, uttering a soft “I shall see you at one. And do not forget. Ring the bell.” before taking her leave to take breakfast with her Uncle. I went to my own room and bathed and dressed before descending for a breakfast of my own.

After eating, I set about doing the tasks of the previous day, emptying the grate, making the bed and tidying her things but once again there was little to be done. Instead I sat and tried to formulate a plan, I thought long and hard about how to prompt and stoke the tentative flames of romance between her and Le Monsieur, and it seemed it would be more difficult than I had thought... she did not seem to be the usual fanciful young woman. I then firmly reminded myself not to get too comfortable with her, for the endgame was unchanged whether I liked the girl or not. It would do me no good to become too attached. It would be like becoming fond of the lamb you would inevitably slaughter for the table.

That day and indeed, all the days that followed seemed to follow the same pattern. We would rise and get ready, she would go to her uncle before I would collect her at one, we shared a lunch, often talking about the scientific marvels the last decades, and then we would smoke a cigarette, go for a walk and check on what I now considered to be “our” little experiment.

 

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To be sure the experiment was a success, the frogs were happy and sheltered in their little kingdom wasted no time in what Delphine called “procreating”. Now nearly two weeks on, in the corner of the large tub were a large number of gelatinous orbs that developed from a nondescript caviar into moving, wiggling creatures visible in their gelatinous prisons. We observed them closely and Delphine wrote everything she noticed: from the colour and texture change of the spawn, and the gradual changing physiology. Eventually she found out I was a dab hand at drawing and requested I draw each stage, which I did. She was delighted with the results and we each waited excitedly for the tadpoles to finally release themselves from the eggs.

After visiting the solarium we would return to the house and her enthusiasm would fade with every approaching step and she set off for dinner with her uncle like a woman walking to the noose. I would eat with the servants before going back up to the rooms for half-past-nine to prepare her for bed. I grew at ease with the process, becoming as familiar with the sight of her body as my own, but as I undressed the mistress, I often unveiled new large bruises that she never acknowledged, and I never dared to ask... though kind with me she was the most forbidding with the rest of the staff, she had a sharp tongue and a quick temper. Shortly after we would be ready to sleep, and like before we would sleep together in the mistresses four poster bed.

It was never quite something we decided, but rather something that just evolved into being the way things were. I remember my third night at the Manor, the night after her nightmare; I had put her to bed just as I had the night before, and made my way to my own room. As I lay and awaited sleep I heard a slight stirring by my door, followed by a light knock before it opened. Delphine stood in the doorway, lit by a weak candle light, her hair cascading in curls about her face, and despite her height and her age she looked like a child of five when she asked me “Cosima. Would you mind sleeping with me again tonight? ...I do not feel well.”

It was an excuse of course, she was as healthy as a horse but I went, of course I did. She was my mistress after all. The same thing happened the night after, and the night after that until I just began to stay without being asked. I would go to my room and prepare for bed and then return to the mistress' and join her. We never talked much before sleeping. We never touched, each of us staying to our own side before we drifted off into slumber. Occasionally she would wake trapped in her nightmares and I would calm her. Then she, well I should say we; would smoke the herbe and fall into fits of giggles about Mrs Jacquard or Mr Dubois, trading stupid stories of fancies before dozing off into a more peaceful slumber. We never spoke of her uncle and she never smiled at the mention of his name, not even in jest.

And so that was our routine, and be began to rub along quite comfortably. In saying this I never forgot my true objective but it seemed to me to be a distant fact, it was something that faded into the abstract when faced with the living breathing woman before me. I call her a woman, but in reality she was little more than a girl so I let myself ignore it, and I let myself pretend.

Until Monsieur came.

 

***********

 

 

He arrived two weeks after I, though I will say it felt a good bit longer. Enough time had gone by that I became at ease with the mistress and the other servants of the household. I grew at ease with my tasks and the rhythm of our days and I had found a sort of sheltered contentment in my daily life at the house. It was not La Jonquiere, and it was not home but I began to feel comfortable. This was perhaps the first of my many mistakes.

I say mistakes, and I mean them. Despite myself and the boundaries I had set in place in my mind, my body had begun to betray me.

I had tried to keep my distance, never being overly tactile as Miss Delphine did not seem to be the type to appreciate it … if and when she touched me it was brief and fleeting. I should point out I am usually a most touchy person, but given our situation and her reserved demeanour I avoided unneccesary contact. It was like an unspoken rule between us but I think the moment this changed was the moment I saved her from a nasty fall.

One afternoon she was patrolling the reeds by the river as usual when her heel slipped in the mud. She tumbled back, arms flailing and I grabbed her before she fell back, I spun her around and we clutched each other, struggling to regain our balance, our faces just inches apart. I released her and she tried to walk back to the house but she had twisted her ankle and was limping heavily. I did not think twice about it and I linked my arm through hers to offer some support, completely necessary given her limp and quite an ordinary action by my standards but as I did I felt her body stiffen as though I had burned her. I glanced up and saw her inhale deeply through her nostrils but a second later she seemed to gather herself, murmuring a soft "Merci Cosima." before we walked quite comfortably back to the house.

After that it was like we had broken Delphine’s unspoken rule, and now that it was already broken we became freer with each other, more at ease. After that it just seemed silly not to link arms as girls do, so I reached to take her arm more and more often. In the beginning it was always the same, she would stiffen but over a brief time she herself reached for my own arm like she had been doing it her whole life.

I know it might not seem important, but you see sometimes hidden within the trifiling things are truths. I bring up this little memory because it highlights something that would have a profound effect on the game we were playing. It highlights the two periods in this story, the time where we walked alone, and the time where we walked together.

                                                                                           

************

 

 

The more I got to know Mademoiselle Delphine Cormier, the more she intrigued me. I had been told my Monsier that she was odd, but she was not that... she was just intelligent, too intelligent for her own good. She had a thirst for knowledge that was insatiable, and despite the fact her Uncle forbid it, she pursued the sciences with a passion. She was fascinated by the workings of the universe, and her enthralment ignited my own. I suppose in a way I envied her, for she was so clever and so determined. I know she suffered many a beating before from her uncle having found her scientific texts and books, but she was always looking for ingenious ways to escape his notice and acquire more.

I couldn’t understand why the man would want to snub out the flame of genius that was in Delphine Cormier, but I was simply naïve… I did not know then that it was not just Monsieur Leekie that believed women had no right to concern themselves with such subjects, but that the world believed this too. I later learned that an intelligent woman is never considered a good thing to a man, that this intelligence is something to be discouraged, that it is something repellent, that it is something deemed unnatural. A woman's intelligence is a threat to a man, and women are meant to be humbled. This is something I have never quite come to terms with but it is simply a reality of the world I live in.

I myself had always loved to learn, whether it had been the tricks of our lawless trade at La Jonquiere or simply songs or games, it made no matter as long as it was something new. I got bored easily and liked to keep myself occupied… In Miss Delphine I found a kindred spirit. When Delphine had explained the theory of Evolution by Natural Selection I was hooked. Survival was the greatest stuggle of life, and the notion that every species reacted and developed and evolved to survive excited me. Looking back, I do recognise the irony of that considering our situtation, but this things are always much clearer in retrospect.

In Paris, wildlife was not the most abundant (except for rats and pigeons of course) and though I missed it dearly I finally learned to appreciate the country for this very thing: the wildlife and nature. I enjoyed our walks, seeing the rabbits flee to their holes, and the deer that stood to attention. Delphine seemed encouraged by my interest in evolution and my quick grasp of the concepts. One evening before bed Delphine went to her drawer of her vanity table, unlocked it and pulled out a battered, coverless book. She locked the drawer again and came to the bed, drawing the candle closer, showing me the battered pile of pages with a shy smile before saying softly “This is Charles Darwins book _**the Origin of Species by Means of Natural Selection**_. I have told you about some of the theories already... but...Would you like me to read it to you Cosima?”

It was one of the kindest things anyone has ever done for me. Delphine had read it hundreds of times before and I knew her taking the time to read the whole book to me was solely for my benefit. What touched me was that Delphine recognised my thirst for knowledge and though I was seemingly just an illiterate maid she made an effort to share what she could with me. At La Jonquiere I was considered as quick as a whip, but no one, not even Mrs S had tried to cultivate my intelligence, to help me go further. I did not even know there was a further before I met Delphine Cormier.

During those two glorious weeks I was enlightened by the theories of the venerable Charles Darwin who became my hero, and to this day still inspires awe in me. And that was not all, Delphine had the patience to explain much more, she explained the scientific theories of electromagnetism, electricity and even about genes and Mendel’s Law of Inheritance, which would later become a passion of mine. Unbeknownst to myself I started to feel like I owed her a debt… and this was hardly ideal when you consider our positions.

 

**********

 

 

Mademoiselle Delphine Cormier seemed to possess so much knowledge, and yet she knew very little about fun.  I remember one slow evening when the weather did not permit us to go outside I pulled my cards from my trunk. I was appalled to learn that this woman who knew the most up to the minute details of science did not know how to play a single card game. I took it upon myself to teach her poker, after all it was the least I could do to pay her back for her own charitable teachings. Often we passed our evenings like this, we played for hairpins and to my frustration she became an exceptionally accomplished player in a very short time and was a tough opponent to beat.

I also learned she had never danced, not once. On learning this I had her rise from her chair and to her horror I took her by the waist and hand and pulled her close, (quite a comic sight considering that she was almost a head taller than me) and began leading her in a slow dance. She looked down at me, amber eyes wide, terrified and transfixed on mine before allowing herself to be led. We had no music but having a nice voice I hummed a passable tune. As we rotated slowly she dropped her gaze and looked anxiously at her feet the whole time, occasionally stepping on my toes and apologising profusely. Despite her reservations she took to it quite naturally, her innate grace showing and after a few minutes practise she seemed to master the waltz so I began to show her a faster step. We began to laugh and grow frantic as I struggled to keep humming a faster tune, dancing, and not laugh at her sometimes hilarious attempts to reproduce the dance.

I think you can see from what I have been telling you that I had begun to lose sight of my objective. And I would soon be in for a rude awakening.

 

***********

                                                                            

 

 The morning after our impromptu dance class I had a feeling, just one of those feelings that it was going to be a bad day. And a bad day it was: I broke a glass, tore my dress and stubbed my toe but those were trifiling things compared to what was to come.

Like every day at one I made my way to the library to collect my mistress, I pulled the tassel once and waited for several minutes. I pulled it again, this time a little harder and hovered uncertain, for she had never kept me waiting before. I moved to pull one more time when the door was hauled open and I saw the gaunt face of the owner of the Manor, Monsieur Leekie. I had never had a direct conversation with him before and as he stood before me I felt my heart quail as he hissed harshly “What is it girl? How dare you disturb me?” He looked at me with beady grey eyes that seemed to widen a little and then harden as he took me in. I managed to stammer out a shaky “I am sorry Sir… I came… to collect Mademoiselle Cormier.”

He paused and looked me over, this time slowly, lasciviously; his eyes caressing every swell and curve before stepping closer to bare down upon me. He was tall, and smelled of stale tobacco. I tried not to recoil as his eyes once again ravaged my small frame before he said “She has been dismissed.” With that he turned back into the room and closed the door. I stood shaken by the encounter and disgusted by the man’s lecherous gaze, but I was much more concerned by the whereabouts of my mistress.

I mounted the stairs again, but she was not in her rooms. Tense and anxious I walked out of the house to the solarium, not even bothering to put on my cloak or change my shoes.

That was where I found her, huddled on the floor and her hair askew. When she lifted her head I saw her beautiful face was streaked with blood, as were her hands and her dress. I rushed to her side and began mopping at the livid sploshes before she groaned and pushed me away. I looked at her appalled, she was trembling hard and I blinked back tears as I whispered “What did he do to you?”

She let her head drop into her hands before replying “It is nothing. I dropped something. He cannot abide by clumsiness.”

I feel myself beginning to shake in anger before spitting through gritted teeth “Mistress we have to get you washed, will you let me escort you back to the house?”

She nodded and as I tried to help her stand she let out a small sob. As she turned I saw the back of her dress, it was gashed in places and smattered with more blood. I held her tight, feeling her tremble between my arms and I supported her back up to the house.

Once upstairs I filled a basin with water and began to try and strip her. It was not easy, for she was obviously in a lot of pain, and had difficulty moving but as the dress came off I began to grasp the true scale of her injuries. Though not much blood seemed to have soaked through the back of the dress, her undercloathes were covered in it. I hesitated before I pulled them off and weak as she was she let me. That is when I saw it, the source of all that blood… her back was covered with livid gashes and welts. He had whipped her.

I pulled back horrified and she raises her head weakly “Hush Cosima. It is no matter. Just wash me would you? I am too weary to stand much longer.”

I sat her down and began dabbing at the open wounds, she let me, but with each touch she inhaled a sharp breath and tears came leaking from her eyes. Finally satisfied her back was clean I set about washing the rest of the blood from her.

Her hands were covered in it, as was her face from what I can only assume to be blood from her nose. I washed her hands and then made a makeshift pad for her back that I lightly tied around her waist, I then dressed her in her nightgown while she bit her lip in pain as it slid over her shoulders. I looked at her, my heart breaking when with her still bloody face she raised her eyes to mine, such eyes… they were a myriad of colour; green, brown with rich flecks of gold. In those eyes I saw a universe of pain, and I found myself blinded to the fact I would cause her much more soon enough. In that moment I just thought of her, of how special she was as I lifted her chin gently and put my hand to her cheek and began to wash away the blood that was there. Finally she was clean, but tired and in agony. I brought her L’Herbe and she smoked a little from the pipe in silence. I declined, too horrified and sick with worry as I watched red speckles begin to appear through the back of her nighgown.

I was giddy and anxious, and I started badly when a knock sounded at the door. Standing on the other side was Elodie, who graced me with a shy smile before handing me a letter. I looked at it and the anxious weight in my stomach pressed harder, for I did not have to be able to read to recognise Monsieur’s hand. My heart sank as I heard Miss Delphine’s weak yet lyrical voice call out “What is it?”. I brought her the letter and she tore it open in a rush.

I should have been pleased to see such a thing, to see her so eager to hear from him but I was not. The sight made me sick and I had to look away. My eyes kept swimming with the image of her flayed back, and Monsieur’s laugh that rang out in my memories from La Jonquiere “You could not possibly understand now but you will… the girl is trapped in what is essentially a prison. She longs for freedom… and I am the only one who can give it to her." that is what he had said. Was this what he meant? Did he know about the beatings?

Delphine shook me from my sombre thoughts by saying in barely more than a whisper “Monsieur Delvinquiere is due to arrive tomorrow evening. Can you believe it?” and though her words were gay she said it in a detached tone, her face expressionless as she let her head loll back onto the sofa, she refused to talk until dinner following that. My mind ran wild because now it seemed to me in the two weeks I had been there I had accomplished nothing, except perhaps becoming too fond of my mark.

That night Miss Delphine ate in her parlour but insisted that I go down for dinner. I ate as quickly as I could, anxious to leave her too long alone. When I opened the door do her bedroom she was exactly where I had left her, sitting on the sofa looking out the window, her dinner untouched.

I again poured water to bathe her wounds and she rose stiffly to sit at her vanity table. As she looked at herself in the vanity she asked me “Do you think I will look alright tomorrow. Monsieur Delvinquiere is coming… I do not wish to be… Unpresentable.”

This was the first time she had ever mentioned any of her injuries directly in the weeks I had been here. I studied her closely as I washed her face, which seemed to have avoided major damage, her nose was a little red but other than that she looked alright. “I cannot be certain Miss… but I think with a little powder one would be hard pressed to see any marks.”

At my response she nodded absently, rose and made her way to the bed. She looked so miserable, so truly miserable that I just wanted to take her in my arms and tell her everything would be alright, even though I knew that would never be true. I went to my own room and prepared hurriedly, returning to find her sitting in the bed and smoking from her pipe. She passed it wordlessly to me and I inhaled, once, twice, then thrice before passing it back to her. My head buzzed and I lowered myself into the bed beside her, closing the curtains that surrounded the bed as usual. I turned to look at her in the weak candle light, as she lay on her side staring at the canopy.

I knew it wasn’t my place but I couldn’t help the question slipping out “Does this happen often Miss Delphine?”

She turned slowly to look at me, I expected anger and a short retort and braced myself but I was unsettled by the sheer  _deadness_ in her eyes.

Her amber eyes bore into mine and she breathed deep before replying- “Yes Cosima. However he usually has a little more restraint… He rarely breaks the skin. He was particularly apathetic today because I spoiled a rare book. I let my inkwell spill. Indeed, he hits me often, a slap here or a cane there but he rarely uses his belt. Yes the belt. He never uses it on bare skin though… to avoid scarring.” She took a deep breath before continuing “Cosima…my uncle is a terrible man and you must do your best to avoid him. I’m sure you have noticed he is… unpleasant. As his niece I am only subjected to his unsavoury gaze. Which is something I have always been eternally grateful for. But you… Cosima you must be careful. My Uncle is dangerous. And I fear he has noticed your beauty. Never allow yourself to be alone with him. Never.”

I took in what she was saying and hesitantly asked “Miss has he ever… “

Closing her eyes with a pained look on her face she responded “Not with me. No. He is after all my uncle and though I am sure his thoughts are less than pure he has never acted on it. My last maid however… she fell for a baby. His baby. I wouldn’t want the same fate for you.”

I couldn’t help it… I felt my hand snaking out and taking her own in my hand. At first she stiffened as usual but at length she held mine back as tears fell hard and fast from her eyes. I am not sure who slept first but I know we awoke with our hands still linked, my thoughts far from Monseuirs arrival.

 

************

 

 

The next morning she was very sore and stiff, her back had turned to an ugly black and blue but her gashes had scabbed over. I dressed her slowly, taking care to bandage her back first before dressing her in a fine olive coloured dress. As I methodically dressed her I could feel her staring at me. I looked up at her and she didn’t shy from my gaze as she sually would. Instead her eyes trailed down over my dress and she said “Cosima… what will you wear today? Monsieur Delvinquiere is coming today and we must look our best.”

I raised my eyebrows in surprise; I had but my Bordeaux housedress and one walking dress.

“Well… this. Obviously." The mistress raised her brow at my rather sarcastic response but ultimately let it slide.

“Have you no other?”-she asked

“No Miss.” I shrugged and cocked my head to the side, bewildered at her insistence. After all it was not I who wished to capture the Monsieur’s eye.

She bit her lip thinking it over “Your dress is nice but… plain. Did your last mistress give you none of her own?”

I sighed, for indeed a change of dress would have been nice… but you can trust a conman to be a cheap skate. “No miss. And in any case we were nowhere near the same size. She was a rather voluptuous woman.”

I saw her dimples make a ghosting appearance at my colourful description before declaring “We are near enough to the same size… indeed you are slimmer than me but some slight adjustments should fix that easily." At this she strode to the wardrobe and pulled it open and began feverishly rifling through her clothes while I looked on, perplexed as she pulled out a dress; the colour was of a dark and warm plum, and it was made of a rich silk. She took it and handed it to me, and it was by far the finest dress I had ever seen never mind touched in my life. She held it out, waiting for me to take it but I just looked at it uncertainly. “Miss… I can’t.”

Delphine tossed her loose blonde curls before impatiently saying “Please Cosima. I insist. Besides… the colour would be magnificent on you. I am too pale for such a shade I think. Come here, let me help you dress.”

Before I registered what she had said she was already pulling at my dress, pulling it over my head and leaving me in just my petticoats. I scarcely had time to blush as she glanced me over briefly saying” How slight you are Cosima.” before she tugged the purple dress over my head and began pulling the strings of the corset.

It was extremely odd and intimate to have her, my mistress, dress me and I felt heat course through my body and my cheeks burst aflame. The dress was slightly too large but Miss Delphine determinedly pulled at the corset rendering the dress closer to my size. There were only two hiccups: the dress was a low one, and I was considerably larger in the chest than Miss Delphine, she smirked at the cleavage before grabbing the bustier with both hands determindly tugging it up, which made me blush even harder as she murmured "Well, aren't you lucky.". I cannot even say if her tugging made much of a difference, for the dress was still far more revealing that I would have liked. The second problem was the dress was far too long for me.

Delphine laughed freely as the length of dress pooled around my feet and my heart swelled to see her in high spirits after what she had endured yesterday. I tried to stop her from making the adjustments herself, injured as she was but she wouldn’t hear of it, she bent quickly cursing her back before she moved to her vanity to take a needle and thread. In a matter of minutes the dress had been adjusted to my length and she stood back up slowly, wincing slightly and surveyed her handiwork, and then breaking out into a proud smile when she looked at my anxious face.

Her eyes soaked me in and she bit her lip… “Well. You look splendid. I knew the colour would complement your complexion wonderfully.”

I turned and looked at myself in the mirror. I stared at my reflection with wide eyes and adjusted my glasses… Indeed, the dress was splendid. The purple brought out the warm tones in my skin and the dark richness of my hair and eyes. The corset hugged my curves, outlining my slim waist and highlighting the curve of my bust and hips. I couldn’t help but smile wide and twirl but I stopped when I saw the Mistress staring at me again, she held my gaze hesitating, before taking a step forward and opened her mouth as if to say something, an intent but unreadable look in her eye. But just as she was about to speak we were interrupted by someone rapping sharply at the door.

We both jumped and turned quickly before I remembered myself and moved forward to open the door. I gasped when I opened it to see Elodie beam at me, her eyes bulging as she took in my new gown. Behind her was Monsieur. When I saw him my heart plummeted. I couldn't move, I couldn't speak and  I felt Miss Delphine move from behind me flashing me a puzzled look before inviting him in, a large smile on cheeks and I cannot say why but my heart constricted at the sight of her dimples flashing… for him.

He strode confidently into the room and the bastard did not even acknowledge me “Mademoiselle Cormier, it has been such a while. I trust you are well? Tell me… have you been keeping up with your lessons?”

At this she blushed almost as hard I had earlier and I felt my heart sink further. “Indeed, Monsieur Delvinquiere, I have been very well thank you. And… ahem. I have indeed been keeping up with my lessons. I have not forgotten what you taught me.”

I felt my eyebrows rise at this, because it was an obvious lie, the woman had not touched a pencil or paintbrush in all the time I had been there. I said nothing of course and stayed quietly in the corner until he turned his attention to me. “Well! Mademoiselle Fournier, I hope you are recovering a little from your terrible loss. Such a terrible thing. Just terrible. I hope all is well with you and Mademoiselle Cormier here at the Manor” Then turning back to Delphine and saying- “What do you say Delphine, is she proving herself as your maid? “– I saw her flinch a little at the familiarity before saying “Indeed, Cosima… Miss Fournier I mean, is proving to be an excellent girl. I am so glad you thought of me. It really was very kind of you Monsieur Delvinquiere.”

Monsieur flicked his dark hair from his eyes and moved forward a pace, smiling, his luscious lips pulling back to reveal very even teeth- “Please call me Felix… and of course Delphine, it is easy to be kind, when there is one such as yourself to be the subject of such kindness.”

At this offhand little flirtation she lit up like a lighthouse, her face blooming to a ruby red in seconds. This did not escape his all-seeing glare, I saw triumph flash in his eyes before but he inclined his head and arranged his face into an expression of regret “Forgive but I must take my leave but I shall see you at dinner, and perhaps we could recommence our lessons? If you wish to of course.”

Cheeks still blazing she responded quickly “Oh yes. I would love to. Thank you.”

Monsieur smiled “Perfect. We shall start on the morrow so. Gooday Delphine, Miss Fournier.” And bowed before heading out of the room but not before throwing me a sly wink as he took his leave.

That night Delphine descended to an early dinner and stayed late for after to perform a reading. When she reappeared she looked weary but excited and as we slipped into bed I tried to think to myself that this was a good thing. She definitely seemed to like him, for she was as giddy as a puppy. The plot was going to plan. I began to think to myself that it was good thing Monsieur had come back for I had become too comfortable here, I had begun to forget who I was. I was a Margaute I told myself firmly, not a maid. I would begin to fan the flames of young love and do what I was here to do.

 

************

 

The next day we passed the day as usual and were delighted to find the tadpoles had finally emerged from their eggs. They were odd little wiggling things that darted this way and that, but I felt a deep fondness for each of them. I drew them as Miss Delphine excitedly documented their size, how many days they took to emerge, and even the weather conditions of the day. It was a good day, we laughed and joked and talked about the tadpoles and our opinions as to why frogs evolved to breed in such an elaborate way, but when the clock struck four we knew we must head back to the house for her instruction in drawing and painting in her parlour.

This was the new routine. I would occupy myself with some sewing or cards while they worked away for two hours, drawing random objects or fruits. He would stand close, too close, as she painstakingly tried to reproduce the object before her. He would always find a reason to move closer, brushing up against her to show her a technique, to redirect the light or clench her fingers tighter around the pencil but I knew it was a farce, he just wanted an excuse to be near her. At his passing touches she would stiffen and even from the table I would see her ears or neck turn pink and her shoulders dip.

It seemed obvious to me at the time that indeed she carried a torch for him, for every time he murmured or moved close she would wriggle or squirm and a scarlet fire would spread across her even features. He played his part so well even I had to remind myself that this was all a farce, so loving did he seem...but often as she painted he would turn to glance at me, his gaze wicked and give me a wink. I think that is when I began to hate him, to truly hate him because it was clear that this was not just about the con… He loved it. The game. I hated him for it because dreadful deed we were planning to execute did not touch him, while I on the other hand could barely stand to look myself in the mirror those days.

I had thought when he arrived that it would happen quickly, and indeed I willed it to... for every passing day I felt the armour around my heart chip away and I felt more closely the betrayal that I would make. But two more weeks had passed since his arrival and nothing truly had progressed. Miss Delphine was quite close lipped about him for the most part, she didn’t like to talk about him. But it was obvious that she liked him; she could not hide the slight shiver that passed through her every time he walked near, or her blush as he brushed his knuckles across her own. These things were something, but they were not enough.

Her behaviour had changed too since his arrival; she seemed more contrary to me, and though her wounds on her back healed to red marks she still bore new bruises almost every time she returned from the library. She grew impatient and though she had quite a reputation of being a demon with the other staff, she had never been anything other than kind to me... I was surprised to find she snapped at me more than once during those two weeks. I wish I could say I knew what was going on but I couldn’t understand it so I chalked it up to lovers nerves.

One day when the Mistress was with her Uncle I ran into Monsieur going through the house and he cornered me, excited and quite happy to see me. I wish I could say the feeling was mutual but by now I had a well of resentment as deep as the sea towards him and I responded briefly and coldly to his excited questions “Has she mentioned me? Does she talk about me? Does she trust you?

I could see he was starting to get anxious and impatient,  as he desperately said "You need to work her faster. My work here is almost done and I shall have no excuse to stay."- he was frusterated because everytime he tried to push Delphine just a _little_ but further she would retreat, placing space between them or even taking her leave. I told him I was doing my best and he looked worried a second before gracing me with a nonchalant smile saying "You're Mrs S' girl... You'll figure something out." When he said that a jolt shot through my body and as he walked away I had to gather myself. He was right. I was Mrs S' girl... they were relying on me at home, relying on me to make us all rich. I had to get my head in the game.

I tried to think of ways I could encourage her without seeming to; I even thought about giving her advice… one girl to another but in the end I decided against it. I knew by then that Miss Delphine Cormier was not one to be pushed. This was something Monsieur didn't seem to understand, and he drove her away because of it. Delphine didn't like to be pressured or prodded… If you did, she shut down, refused to talk or continue so I decided to keep going at her pace, slow as it was and prayed that she confide in me soon. All I needed her to do was disclose... then I could steer her towards him. Once she opened up the rest would be childs play.

 

*************

 

 

Except it wasn't. His name barely passed her lips...ever. I had been ready to tear my hair out, and had worriedly begun to think Monsieur might have overestimated his mark but then it happened.

One fine afternoon during the beginning of March, Monsieur suggested we venture outside to let her try her hand at drawing landscape but I knew he just wished to draw her from the house, hoping perhaps it would coax her from her shell. She agreed and off we went, they walked ahead arm in arm while I trailed behind carrying the bag trying to give them space while staying close enough so I  could still observe them clearly. I saw him dip his head to hers to whisper what I assumed to be sweet nothings. He was a few inches taller than her and he used his height advantage as a good excuse to keep lowering his ear close to her mouth to hear what she said. And when he did she did not pull away... a first for her. Indeed, perhaps it was a good idea to draw her from the house after all, I thought to myself.

It was a lovely day, the sun shone and the trees had started to regrow their leaves. Monsieur sat her by the river and had her take out her paints and pencils. It was a warm and still day and we were outside for what felt like hours and at some point I must have drifted off to sleep because I awoke to find an empty easel and stool, and Miss Delphine and Monsieur nowhere to be seen.

I stood and looked around before I heard a soft murmuring a little way off. I stepped closer to the sound going silently, not wanting to disturb them and what I saw was enough to convince me that Monsieur had at last won the war.

They stood under a weeping willow tree...close, but not too close. I observed as he reached out to take her hand and raise it to his cheek. Delphine did not move, but continued to stare at her feet. He pulled her close and lifted her chin to look at him, and I saw her chest rise and fall faster and faster. He paused before slowly pulling her into a tight embrace and she let him, his face disappeared ito her mass of curls before he pulled back slightly and I watched as he placed a languid kiss on her collar bone, just above the seam of her dress.

At this I turned away… I couldn’t bear to look anymore. Fury roiled in my belly and had my breath catch in my chest, my fists clenching and unclenching. I was rooted to the spot, shocked by the strength of my emotions. I kept seeing him bury his face in her mass of soft curls and I was overwhelmed with anger as this undesererving fraud, margaut and conman getting to touch her. To kiss her. I knew I was no better than he, for I was helping him do it, but in that moment I realised that I had HOPED that Delphine would see through his ruse. She was after all the most intelligent woman I had ever met, she deserved better than him. I felt the biterness rise up in me and take place in my heart. I remember thinking then if she was foolish enough to love him, perhaps she was not as clever as I thought.

My thoughts were irrational I know now. I was the one supposed to be pushing the woman into Monsieurs arms, so how could I resent her falling into them? But then again I know now what I did not then... jealousy never is the most rational of emotions.

In either case, Monsieur had won.

A very short time later they came back to where I was sitting. They held hands as they approached, and I tried to swallow the bitter taste that was in my mouth. She painted a little more before we made our way back to the house. On parting Monsieur caught my gaze and held it, pausing before slowly extending his tongue to slowly and seductively lick his lip and then winking at me. I swallowed my disgust and turned to Delphine. She gave nothing away, and her face did little to betray her emotions. Over the course of the rest of the day she seemed to be little changed by the encounter but that night as I watched her in the semi-darkness I saw her draw her fingers across her collar bone again and again, obviously reliving his kiss.

 

She was out too far out to sea now and there was no way to save her from the tide.

 

 

 

 

 


	5. The Rabbit and the Snare

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Now that Delphine has fallen into their snare, what will happen next? In this chapter we explore Delphines feelings towards Monsieur and if he plans to at last propose. Would Delphine accept such a proposal? Would Cosima let her?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just wanna add a wee shout out to the Mad_Scientist_88 for reading over this for me. This chapter is a wee bit shorter than usual because origionally this was an epic 13000 word chapter, but it has been decided to split it into two parts, because it flows much better this way :D 
> 
> So chapter six is gonna be fun... Im not sure whether Ill be posting it this, or next week, as there are a few tweeks to be made but anyways I hope you enjoy the continuation of the story :) Feedback and comments are very much appreciated so please let me know what ye think!

**Chapter 5:**

 

The next day before she was due to go her uncle Elodie came, bringing her the message that she would not be required to go to her Uncle in the library today, as he would be organising business with Monsieur Delvinquiere.

News like this would usually overjoy her for she detested the library but she remained tense for much of the morning before she grew so agitated I suggested we go to look at the frogs.

As soon as the words left my mouth I regretted them for her head whipped quickly towards me and my heart nearly quailed for she was looking at me with such a cold, hard gaze, her amber orbs blazing and her lips tight. I remember being surprised and… hurt. Never in all my weeks at the Manor had she ever looked at me with such malevolence. After glaring at me for long minute, she must have sensed my discomfort because she seemed to gather herself, her expression clearing before she coughed and muttered a quick “Yes. I would like to take some air, and god knows I need a cigarette. Come.”

Delphine stood quickly and strode out the door, not even bothering to change her shoes and leaving me scrambling to grab her cloak before jogging out after her. As usual we smoked a cigarette together in the yard, but then she lit another, and another. She strode from side to side, agitated and I dared not asked her what was the matter, so forbidding was her countenance.

At length she turned to study me, her elbow cocked, her burning cigarette held high, inches from her full lips. “Cosima… how did your mother die?

I coughed in shock, for she had never asked me such a personal question, she quite caught me off guard, for I often forgot I was supposed to be in mourning though my own Mrs S was alive and well. I thought quickly before saying “Emmm… she had a weakness of the lungs.”

“Do you miss her?”

“Everyday.”- This was true, I missed Mrs S a little every day, a soft pang of longing that hit me at the oddest moments.

There was a pause, as she tapped off the ash from her cigarette before raising her eyes to me, her face a neutral mask before saying in a mild tone, her face devoid of emotion “I murdered my mother you know?”

I stood, stunned, not knowing what to say, I took of my glasses and cleaned them, a nervous habit before she continued “She died giving birth to me.” Again she inhaled deeply on her cigarette, before tossing the curls from her brow.

I had known she was an orphan, but not the circumstances of her being one, but murdered seemed like such a strong words to describe a woman dying in childbirth, I looked at her as she seemed to be waiting for a response, I spoke my mind, haltingly, sensing I was treading in dangerous territory

“You didn’t _murder_ her Miss...Many women die in childbirth, it is not the fault of the child. These things just happen. It’s a terrible thing but you cannot blame yourself for you mother’s death because of the circumstances of your birth.”

She glared at me levelly, dropping her cigarette to stub it out before saying “I did murder her. But that doesn’t matter. I never knew her so I never loved her, so it is of little importance to me.”

And with that Delphine shrugged her shoulders nonchalantly, an action most uncharacteristic of her and then took off towards the river without as much as a second glance. I called her name but she did not answer, continuing to walk quickly following the river upstream, walking further and then further still, until we were the farthest I had been from the Manor since my arrival. I followed her dubiously, trailing after her, her long strides making me struggle to keep up as I desperately tried to make sense of her foul and macabre humour.

 And then a heavy drop hit me square on the nose, followed quickly by another and then another and then it was like the skies opened. I looked up confused for though it had been a grey day but there had been no indicators that those grey clouds would be carrying this tempest.

The rain came in buckets, thundering down deafeningly loud, soaking us to the skin in an instant. I saw a cluster of trees a few feet away and called to Delphine to follow, running to the nearby trees for cover. I had thought she was right behind me but when I turned I was alone, I looked through the downpour to see her standing there in the onslaught, head dropped back and lifted towards the sky.

I watched her perplexed until I heard what I thought to be a low sobbing coming from her and before I knew it I found myself leaving the shelter of the trees and running to her, worried and confused. When I reached her I grabbed her by the arms and tried to get her to look at me, but she ignored me, her chest heaving with what I thought to be emotion, the sounds got louder and louder until I realised… she was not crying.

Delphine was laughing. Not her happy laugh that was a soft melodious booming, this laugh was hard, bitter and slightly unhinged. She laughed louder and harder, until it almost reached the point of hysteria, and she was beginning to scare me. Disturbed, I gripped her hard about the arms and shook her, shouting her name. She continued to ignore me, and I began to panic…I moved closer until we were flush against each other and shook her more forcefully causing her head to bob erratically on her slender neck before she finally lowered her chin to look at me, and then her eyes locked with mine.

I gripped her tightly still and tried to read her face, tried to understand, trying to find an explanation for this odd behaviour. I looked at the woman who stood against me, her terrible smile slowly sliding from her face. Delphine’s blonde curls had been darkened and dampened by the rain, they hung from her head in not her usual corkscrew curls, but rather loose tendrils, long and dripping. When our eyes met her gaze became clear and intense, she looked into my eyes as if she wished to see what was engraved behind them, and as I met her gaze I found myself unable to look away. Even soaked to the skin she looked stunning, the rain doing nothing to extinguish her ethereal beauty and I felt myself unknowingly staring at her lips, tracing the shape of that perfect crossbow pout. I tore my gaze from them when I felt her own hands move to gently encircle my waist, and in a subconscious response I gripped her ever tighter, pressing her to me so hard I could feel her heartbeat.

We stood, gazes locked and chests heaving in the pouring rain, when a flash of lightning and a roll of thunder caused us to jump apart as if we had been burned. I looked up at her, my cheeks reddening in a second and she shook her head slightly, eyes closed tightly before inhaling deeply. I don’t know what I expected but it certainly was not what followed.

Delphine turned to me, her eyes suddenly opening, she took a step closer her eyes locked on mine and her gaze penetrated me, laying me bare before her. I felt my heart skip a beat and then she said it.

 

She practically spit it.

 

“Monsieur Delvinquiere has asked me to be his wife.”

I was stunned, like I said, I had not been expecting…this. At the back of my mind I knew that this was the goal, that we had succeeded and I should be overjoyed. But I could not shake my shock, I was unprepared, Monsieur had given me no indication that he had already asked her, and neither had Delphine, she had not even told me about their kiss. I should have been happy, if I had been doing my job properly I would have been… but instead I felt bile rise up my throat and I struggled to say something. Anything.

I felt her gaze on me still, scalding me and I had to turn from her… this was it. This was where I was supposed to seal the deal, to drive the last nail into her coffin but I found myself frozen and my mind sluggish, the only coherent thought being “this is actually happening. Oh my God.”

Though shaking I managed to compose myself enough to stammer “Miss Delphine. That is… wonderful. Congratulations.” Before turning back and offering her a smile that I am sure she saw through in an instant

Her eyes had ceased to blaze, instead her gaze became vacant and her shoulders slumped before responding “Is it?”

I hesitated before responding, trying to read her enough to have an appropriate retort, I took off my glasses trying to buy time, wiping them to rid them of the fogginess that smothered the lenses. “He does seem very fond of you Miss Delphine.”

She seemed to cringe at my response before saying “I have not accepted his proposal.”

When the words came from her I froze, a part of me felt elated, yet another felt panic; if after all this our scheming could come to nothing, what would I do? I had never considered the possibility she would refuse him, but so badly did I want her to refuse that I felt my stomach tie itself in knots.

But then she continued slowly pulling absentmindedly at her lip. “I could not accept. My uncle will never let me, he will never give his permission to marry and I cannot marry without it. He will never allow me to leave… he needs me to be his secretary for that wretched library. Though that is not the true he would refuse… he would refuse because he cannot have me, and so no one else can. The fact he cannot have me in the way he desires actually matters little because… I am still his at the end of the day. He owns me. He will never let me leave this place. I will be his slave forever.”

I was horrified by what she had told me… she had hinted that her uncle had an unhealthy obsession with her but I had no idea of the depth of his depravity. I found myself unable to speak, to say anything and after a beat she seemed to realise I wouldn’t respond then carried on in a rush, her hands gestured feverishly and she began to pace “My uncle is a villain. He had never cared an ounce for my happiness. He will not start now. But…Monsieur Delvinquiere says he loves me and I find myself loath to refuse him but if my uncle finds we are… involved (I cringed at this) he will send him away and I will never see him again.”

I still kept my silence, terrified of what I would say if I spoke, unable to bring myself to coaxing her to run away with him, but she looked at me and saved me from my vile task, uttering the words herself.

“Monsieur Delvinquiere… Felix I mean, has suggested we flee together from the Manor. That we go from here in the night and return to Paris where we shall be married. Once the wedding has been held I shall be Felix’s wife, and my uncle will no longer have a claim on me.”

It was exactly as he planned it to, this could not be going better for the bastard. Or for me, if I could just get my head in the game.

I thought to myself “4000…Livres Cosima.” before I swallowed, breathed deeply, swallowed my self-loathing and said “Well… Miss Delphine if you love him then you have your answer, for one cannot live without the person they love. You must follow your heart.”

I studied her as I said this, trying hard to keep the pained expression from my face but as I did I noticed her face become strained, and she began to pull at the collar of her dress, scratching hard at her collar bone. I don’t know what made me ask, what was this strong compulsion I felt… or what made me blurt the words in a rush. I do not know why I wanted, or _needed_ to know so badly but I did. I needed to know. “You do love him... Miss?”

She scratched ever harder at her chest until I reached impatiently for her hand and pressed her for an answer. “ _Do_ you love him?”

She looked down at our linked hands and gave a defeated little sigh before replying “I do not know. Is it really that important?” before trying to turn away.

I needed an answer, a definite answer. I pulled her hand tight as she tried to walk away before the words left me in a frantic rush “You must know? It is something your heart knows in an instant. If you love him your heart should beat madly at the sight of him, you should ache to hold him, ache for him to kiss you…ache for him in his entirety. If you love him the mere though of him should be enough to make you smile, you should dream of him in waking and sleeping. You must know!”

I was speaking wildly, desperately pressing her despite her obvious distress and not allowing her to break my gaze, to be free from my grip but I ignored the buzzing in the back of my mind, the buzzing of Mrs S telling me to back off, screaming at me that this was not part of the game. Rain pummelled down still, and I could barely see through my glasses, my hair had come undone and I, we, were both drenched.

At length Delphine dropped her eyes from mine, a melancholy expression settling on her face before she asked softly “And… those things. The heart racing, the smiling, dreaming and aching for him. Those things mean I love him?

I found I couldn't look at her myself then, my own gaze becoming distant and I answered softly, the passion of my little speech having left me quite drained, “Yes. At least I think so. I have never been in love… but that is how I imagine it to be.”

Delphine sighed and turned from me and almost at once began scratching ever harder at the spot Monsieur kissed her yesterday, she became more frantic until I heard the fabric tear and I stepped in front of her and grasped her hands. I took in the ruined dress, the slim fingers that were twitching between my own, the bare red skin and tears cascading down through the raindrops on her face. And it hit me. Her agitation, her tears, it all made sense… she did not love him at all, she didn’t even like him.

I don’t know why but I felt some sort of relief knowing that, the compulsion that had spurred me on to force it from her having been at last satisfied... though I should have been dismayed, for the consequences being too grave to fathom.

I paused, hesitating, hopeful “You don’t love him.” It was a statement. Not a question.

She cried harder her shoulders shaking and sobbed into the growing darkness “It matters not.”

“Perhaps you should refuse him so.”- The words came from me before I realised it, I stood shocked, trying not to curse myself aloud as I saw Mrs S disappointed and weary face staring at me hard in my mind’s eye.

Delphine wheeled around to me, tears glinting upon her cheeks and a look of absolute shock on her face before stuttering “Refuse him!? No. I shall marry him.”

“Why?”- I felt my heart sink and when I asked my voice was low and quite emotionless, it was tired.

Delphine blinked at me for a few seconds, a bemused expression on her face before I saw it harden, drying her tears and taking a determined breath.

“Because it is the only way I will ever be free. Be free of this house, my uncle, and the beatings… and the constant fear of more than just the beatings every time I am in his company. Monsieur Delvinquiere is it. My only chance of getting out. Love him or not, I must take it.”

 

************

 

 

That evening we returned to the house and she seemed calmer, gone was the anxious pacing and scratching of before and now in their place was a calm steady countenance. As we reached the manor she stood by the door frame before entering and paused, taking a deep breath before asking “Cosima…if I am to do this. To run away with him… I do not feel I can do it alone. Well, I was wondering, hoping really, if you would consider coming with me? As my maid? No… not my maid. As my companion, a ladies companion? I have grown very fond of you, and I hope you have of me. When I marry I shall come in to quite a sum of money and I shall be able to buy you anything you need, a small house close to where ours shall be perhaps. Or anything else you desire... Please say yes. Please come with me.”

I stood in silence, my heart thundering madly and trying to control the shame that coursed through me. She desired to keep me with her, she desired to make me her companion, not just her maid. I would be her friend, she would provide for me, anything I needed.

I wanted to scream and shake her, to tell her to get some sense but in the end, as always I did nothing.

Instead I looked at her tense face, swallowed and tried to replace my pained expression into something more acceptable and answered “Of course Miss Delphine. Nothing would please me more.”

And that was that, our plan had been a success for the most difficult part was over, she had agreed to marry him… but I knew that the worst was to come… I would have to keep up this charade until she was safely secured behind the madhouse gates, and I was not certain I could.


	6. Magnetism

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Delphine has accepted Monsieurs proposal and though Cosima tries to focus on the task at hand, but cannot help the pull she feels towards Delphine, but as it turns out...perhaps she is not the only one to feel it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanna say a HUGE thank you to Mad_Scientist_88 who betad this chapter for me, she was an awesome help, was totally spot-on and absolutely helped me make it better so a huge shout out to her* applauds and showers her with rose petals* 
> 
> I hope ye enjoy and as aways I am always open to ideas and suggestions. I love to hear your thoughts on Argot, so comment away if you so desire or ye can find me on tumblr if that is more your thing :)  
> https://www.tumblr.com/blog/yetanothereireannach
> 
> P.S Ok guys so this is a fun chapter indeed... But NSFW so ye are forewarned.

 

**Chapter 6:**

 

 

The next day she accepted his proposal. I was playing cards myself, quite miserably, while they spoke in low murmurs a few feet from me and I heard him exclaim “You have made me the happiest man on earth!" before he grabbed her and swept her into his arms.

She went stiff in his embrace hurriedly disengaging and hushing him before gesturing to me“Miss Fournier has agreed to help us. She will be coming with us Monsieur D… Felix.” He smiled at the use of his given name and hesitated a second before murmuring “It will be difficult to make arrangements for both of you my sweet.” as he reached out a hand to her shoulder.

Delphine brushed off his hand before replying seriously “She is coming. It is a non-negotiable requirement for the acceptance of your proposal.”

Of course she was just playing into his hands further… it had been the plan all along to accompany them after escaping the Manor, keeping her calm and happy until the ink was dry on the marriage licence and then escorting her unsuspecting to the asylum gates. I hated myself. I hated him. And in that instance I hated her for falling so deftly to every one of Monsieur’s plans.

He pretended to think a moment, and I saw a flicker of a grin lift a corner of his mouth before he managed to stamp it down. He acquiesced respectfully, turning to me and saying “Miss Fournier, or should I call you Cosima? It seems we are well beyond such formalities now, after all our lives are now intertwined. I dare say welcome to the family.”

  
He smiled at me, and too many teeth appeared, his eyes glittered, it was not a smile of friendship, but rather a smile of sadistic triumph. I felt myself colour and did the only thing I deemed to be acceptable in such a situation, not trusting myself to speak, I curtsied.

And now that she had been caught in our snare that with each twitch it held her tighter, I just wished it would be done, I just wanted to get it over with and go home.

 

**********

 

 It was now the end of March and Monsieur was contracted to work until mid-April. He would finish up and pretend to take his leave, but really he would stop at the nearby town of Chantilly and at night he would steal his way back to the Manor before collecting us at the river and leading us away by boat. It was of the utmost importance her uncle didn’t find her directly after, for if he did within three days of the marriage licence being signed her uncle could take her home and the marriage would be declared invalid, as was his right with the Mistress being his Ward.

Two days later he came to us during the hour of her lessons and said in a harsh whisper “All has been settled”. He had found the witnesses', a priest willing to marry them quickly and in the dead of night, and a cottage for them to hide out in after the wedding. He then looked her dead in the eyes, drawing her gloved hand up to kiss and said in cold voice loud enough for me to hear “Two weeks and we shall be married.'' I knew what that meant, he hadn’t said it to her, not really. It was for me, a reminder; two weeks before the end of this.

When he left she whispered it again to herself, and I knew what she meant too. Two weeks before she would trade one form of misery for another.

Delphine never grew fonder of Monsieur despite the fact he appeared to be the most kind and charming of fiancées, she never managed to fully hide the tight set of her lips when he appeared, never managed to hide the deadness in her eyes as she smiled, never managed to hide the rigidity in her posture as her touched or kissed her. As each day passed I watched it get worse and worse until one day she actually pulled away from him, turning her back on him and as he took his leave with feigned hurt and I was shocked when I heard her whisper harshly “I detest you.” as soon as the door had closed behind him. She said it with utter vehemence and I knew she meant it but I was surprised. I knew she didn’t love him, but I had never thought she hated him. It made me feel even worse because she became more wretched and miserable by the day.

I use misery to describe her because she was indeed that. Delphine was despondent, she grew restless, ate little and was generally disinterested in everything. The only thing that seemed to give her any respite from her pain were the froglets. I call them froglets because that is indeed what they were at that stage. They had grown from tadpoles to smaller versions of adult frogs, despite the tail, which grew smaller by the day. I dare say Delphine loved them. She would spend hours observing them, feeding them, catching them and caressing their moist little heads. I loved them too. The little frogs were fascinating and a source of constant laughs, jokes, pranks and stories as we spent hours with them in the solarium each day.

However that day of her outburst in the parlour with Monsieur we were in the solarium and Delphine was unusually quiet and brooding. I tried to respect her mood, staying mute as I sketched one of the froglets when suddenly looked up at me from her place on the floor, releasing the frog she had in her hands, and said abruptly “We should release them.”

My body froze. “Release them? “

She tried to feign nonchalance, coldly tossing her head before saying “Yes…the experiment is complete and they are almost fully grown. We have no further use for them.” I could see Delphine was pretending coldness and indifference but I knew better, this had something to do with what went on this morning, and I could see the angst in her eyes as she trailed them over her sculpted little habitat.

I stammered “But what about predators? They aren’t even fully grown yet.” I wrung my hands, looking at the little hopping creatures I had become so fond of.

Delphine turned to look at the little frogs too and sighed, softening slightly as she placed a gently hand to my shoulder before responding “Cosima, only the fittest survive, you know that. We have already increased their odds exponentially, many would not have made it past tadpoles. Besides, I cannot keep them here forever… have you forgotten we will soon be leaving?” I was dismayed even though I knew it was true and I knew she must be feeling the heartbreak as I was at the idea of losing them.

“But…we don’t leave for another week.” I tried before she cut me off, with a lift of her hand before turning to me, a resolute look in her eyes.

“We will do it now.” And that was the end of the discussion.

 

**********

 

 Painstakingly we gathered the frogs in a little box, taking our time, caressing each them gently before putting them in. I could see that Delphine was starting to soften in her resolve and I held out some hope, however slight that she would turn around, and bring them back to the solarium.

But Delphine walked on, before stopping and hesitating as we reached the riverside. I watched her battle with herself, standing painfully straight, trying desperately to seem uncaring and indifferent, she muttered something to herself that I didn’t catch before she bent and stroked the closed box. I swear heard a slight catch in her voice when she opened the box and ever so gently tilted the frogs out as she whispered “Take care little ones. You are free. And freedom is a beautiful thing…and though I will miss you I would never deny you that privilege.”

I heard her words though I was sure I was not supposed to. I began to cry softly as we watched them disperse, I turned to look at Delphine who stayed by the riverside crouching, her skirts trailing in the mud, a look of sheer desolation crossing her face as we watched our little subjects hop off. I felt I should say something, something to mark this sudden bereavement but suddenly, almost violently she stood and turned, she scoffed at my grief stricken expression and harshly said “They were just frogs, Cosima.” Though her words were cold before she turned away I saw her own tears start to fall as turned her back on me and strode back the house, and I followed her, feeling like we had lost something we could never get back.

 

***********

 

 After her behaviour that morning I knew Monsieur would seek me out, worried about the advancement of his plans but after losing the froglets I had little patience for him. When he muttered prissily “Jesus, the little bitch is handwork. Do you know why she has her knickers in a twist?” I couldn’t help it… I lost my temper, all the resentment, all the frustration radiated from me in waves as I scathingly replied “Why don’t you ask her yourself?”. Monsieur drew himself up and gave me a dark look before saying “Got something to say Cosima? What is the problem now? Jesus…I feel like it is an ever ending task managing the both of you…women."

And that was it… I lost it, his pissy little attitude just made me angrier and I found I was almost screaming “Do I have a problem? Well, shit…I don’t fucking know. Perhaps it’s her, perhaps it’s you, and perhaps it’s this!!! A problem???!!! Dammit, if I had known truly what I was getting myself into before I would have refused in an instant! I’ve started to think…”

He looked at me then. A dangerous look. “Started to think Cosima? About what?”

I raised my chin defiantly. “I’ve been starting to think that perhaps I’ve lost heart for this.”

I wasn’t expecting him to grab me then, hard, as he spit through his teeth “Lost _HEART_ for this? You little fool, have you forgotten where you come from, who you are? What would Mrs S say? There is no going back Cosima, not now. You will _NOT_ screw me over for some stupid, frigid little bitch do you hear me? God, I never would have thought you so weak, so stupid. The plan goes forward and remember…if I go down, you come with me. I’d kill you before I let you fuck this up for me. ” he hissed before giving me a slight shove and stalking away.

I stood there a moment, frozen in place massaging my arms as I tried to process what had just happened. He had threatened to kill me, but that in itself was not so surprising and I did not take it too much to heart. What had really struck me was that Monsieur was right. He was right about me…I was weak.

Mrs S had adopted me, raised me, she had called me her Stór but here I was, a job going perfectly, almost completed and here I was just being a coward, a soft coward with cold feet. How could I go back to her and explain that I had thrown away three months of my life and 4000 Livres, more money than we would make in a lifetime together because I had grown… sentimental. Sentimental about an odd girl I barely knew. Sentimental about a girl who didn’t know me. Sentimental about a mark.

Even if I decided to return home, to throw it all away, Monsieur would not. He had convinced Delphine to marry him, and she had said it herself; what else could she do? He was just about to strike gold and he wouldn’t walk away now.

If I wanted to save her from him, the bastard… say I told her uncle about him. Obviously he would be sent from the house, they would not be married but she would still be trapped here… with that uncle of hers, taking beatings every day and constantly fearing worse. Or what if I were to tell Delphine about the whole plot? But then I knew not only would he be shipped off to prison to be hung, but he would expose me too and I would accompany him to the gallows. I was sorry, but not sorry enough to give up everything; my family, my freedom, or my life. Either way it seemed to me she was born to misery, and I couldn’t save her, even if I wanted to.

So I decided though I hated myself a little more every day, I decided just because her fate was set to be an unhappy one it did not mean mine was to be, or that of my adoptive family. I would go through with the plan to the end, and bring home the 4000 Livres. I would change my family’s life forever.

Rededicated to the plot I tried to harden my heart, to ignore her misery and think forward to my success, but in doing that an odd thing happened. The more I tried to push her from me, from my thoughts, from my feelings, and from my heart, the more she seemed to push her way through and set up residence within.

 

***********

 

 It was maddening, I couldn’t get her off my mind, I couldn’t find a moment of peace. I felt myself lean towards her wherever she was, if we were together my fingers would itch to reach out and touch her, as she painted with Monsieur I ached to pull him away, when she was with her uncle I felt her there with me even though she wasn’t, I felt any lashes she took as if they were my own. When she came back bloodied or bruised I felt an unfathomable rage encompass me, and I wanted to tramp down to the library and take his belt to him, just as he had to her so any times before.

I felt the tugging of my heart follow her wherever she went and one night lying beside her while she slept, I was trying to make sense of the phenomenon when my own words to her beside the river came slamming back to me “It is something your heart knows in an instant. If you love him your heart should beat madly at the sight of him, you should ache to hold him, ache for him to kiss you…ache for him in his entirety. If you love him the mere thought of him should be enough to make you smile, you should dream of him in waking and sleeping.”

Realisation rolled through me like lightning and the heavy truth settled in my bones like it had always been a part of me, like it had always been known. “I am in love with her. Oh shit.”

In that instant the thought changed me, it terrified me, I was so unprepared for what now seemed so obvious that it made me nervous and unsteady. It made everything not just more complicated but more frightening. How could I love her? She was a woman, a beautiful woman, yes… but a woman all the same. I imagined myself kissing her and heat coursed through me before the shame set in. I kept seeing faces, disgusted faces, imagining what they would think if they were to become aware of my unnatural leanings towards her; Monsieur, Scott, Mr Dufour, Krystal, and then most heart-breaking was the disappointed face of Mrs S. I threw the thought from myself violently, fighting against my heart, telling myself I had made a mistake, it couldn’t be true.

I did not sleep at all that night and the next morning as I dressed her I felt strange and transparent, I was terrified she would see through me, see this strange passion I harboured. It made me awkward, it made me nervous and skittish…I couldn’t look at her, my hands trembled and though I had seen her naked a hundred times before her lithe frame was changed to me forever, knowing what I knew now.

She noticed my awkwardness. Of course she did, we had become as in tune with each other as a violin and its bow but she did not push me on it, giving me the space I claimed out of fear while distancing herself, withdrawing into her melancholy.

I tried to keep the thoughts from me, instead focussing on the timeline we had left…I would only have endure little over a week more. However, the more I tried to ignore it, the more her face kept pushing its way into my consciousness, the more my hands fought against me, reaching out of their own accord, my heart fought against me, second guessing every action, every sentence until I became a nervous, exhausted, edgy mess.

The mistress obviously felt the time pass too, and with each day she grew more restless, more impatient and more despondent. Where I would have reached out to comfort her before, I held myself back terrified my body would betray me, as my heart had. If she thought I seemed cold she said nothing, but I would occasionally catch her staring at me with a melancholy gaze. We missed the frogs and we talked little during the following days.

She slept badly too, I knew this because sleep almost escaped me in its entirety. I felt her toss and turn, her body sometimes pressing flush up against me as she would murmur and pull me close in her sleep. I froze, but did not move, I did not pull away, and instead I allowed myself to revel in it, as more often or not her embrace would allow me so slip off into my own slumber. However, she had more night terrors too, I would wake to feel her become more and more agitated, before she would begin to scream and flail about her. I would sit up, grasp her arms and sooth her. She would open her eyes, see my face hovering inches from her own before sighing a deep sigh and sitting up. We would smoke together then, the thick heavy plumes of smoke relaxing us and numbing our senses.

One night, a six days before “the end” it was one such night, she tossed and she turned, her brow creased and her words unintelligible as she began to grasp at the empty air. I sat up sighing and as per usual held her tight until she opened her eyes, we smoked together, usually just a few tugs each but this night she refilled the pipe and lit it again.

 

She turned to look at me in the weak candle light and said words that broke my heart “I am scared Cosima.”

I looked at her then and reached for my glasses, feeling my head swim the now familiar way from the Herbe.

She passed me the pipe and I asked “What are you scared of Delphine?”

I think I said Delphine, I had always called her Miss or Mistress but in the dim light and warm cocoon of the canopied four poster bed it slipped out, but she did not seem to notice the misplaced familiarity.

She sulked a moment before responding, taking her mass of curls and flipping them to the other side, and then taking a deep drag from the pipe before responding “I am scared of being married. It has never been something I aspired to and now I feel like it is being pushed upon me like a wave.”

I stayed true to my role, though my heart rebelled against me “What is there to be afraid of in marriage? You shall be husband and wife and there is nothing more natural in the world. I know it shall be a change of course but there is nothing to be scared of.”

“Nothing more natural in the world?” she looked at me sceptically, her eyebrow arching elegantly and she turned her full consideration to me.

I stuttered when confronted with her rapt attention “Of course not.”

I felt her take a deep breath before asking “What do you consider to be natural Cosima?”

I felt myself blush hard at her words, my own unnatural realisations never far from my mind, before responding “Well, he is an handsome man, you are a beautiful woman, it is natural that you should fall in love, and be married.”

At this she literally scoffed, impatiently flipping her hair again to the other side before asking me in a low and serious tone, her eyes trained on my face as she awaited my response “Do you consider him handsome?”

At her question I was quite genuinely surprised for Monsieur was an unusually attractive man, he had angular cheekbones, full lips, dark hair and eyes and was always well presented. “Well of course miss. Don’t you?”

Delphine sighed and shrugged slightly before muttering “I suppose.” though she did not sound convinced.

I hesitated before asking, not sure whether I wished to know the answer “You do not love him at all miss?”

Delphine avoided my gaze before mumbling “I do not know… I think not. “

I cannot help myself pressing for more details… I needed to understand why she remained so unmoved by him “So you feel nothing for him, even when he holds your hand and kisses you?”

I was amused to see her blush hard at my question, trying to compose herself before answering “When he kisses me…I dare say no. I feel nothing. But perhaps it is not him…it is me. Perhaps I am lacking something, this capacity for love or perhaps even some physical aspect necessary to ignite what other people call passion.”

I couldn’t help but laugh at this though I knew it was a mistake when I felt her stiffen beside me. The Herbe had made us open, giddy, we had never talked in such a candid way. I knew I should end the conversation…that it was getting into thrilling and dangerous territory but I didn’t.

I tried to hide my own twinge of jealousy as I said “Miss Delphine! I am sure there is nothing wrong with you, you are a perfectly normal girl. Just perhaps…you and Monsieur Delvinquiere may need privacy and when you have it well…the rest will take care of itself.”

“Take care of itself?” Her blonde head whipped toward me, amber eyes wide and horror etched all over her face.

“Yes.” I replied, trying my hardest not to imagine “the rest”. My own expression was an unhappy one I’m sure.

Her gaze locked with mine before she said “Oh god Cosima…I don’t think so…his kisses are already hard enough to bear. The thought of his touch…it repulses me. Really, perhaps I lack something fundamental. I have never found myself to be drawn to the idea of kissing and god knows I scarcely know how to do it. I find I do not enjoy it at all.”

Though rather amused by her admissions I was troubled to hear her talk so unhappily “I am sure you lack nothing and if there is a problem it is because he is doing it wrong, Miss.”

At this she laughed openly, though unhappily, incredulous as she said “Doing it wrong Cosima? I do not think so, he is older than I and much more experienced...or...perhaps I am frigid”

"Frigid? You cannot be serious Miss.”

"I think I may be...I truly find no enjoyment in it, he repulses me despite the fact he is not unattractive and honestly I do not know how I can force myself to grow fond of him.”

I blinked, head soaring high and having trouble forming coherent thought. I was surprised at her attitude, I knew she did not like him, or love him for that matter but to find him repulsive… it seemed to be such a virulent emotion. However thinking back I had seen it… I had witnessed her flinches and grimaces. I thought back to our time together, how stiff she was, and how much freer she has become, I thought about how sometimes I would catch her looking at me, and a blush would rise to her cheeks. I then thought of Monsieur, I saw her set mouth and resigned countenance in his company and I began to have, I am not sure to describe it… an inkling.

I felt my own heart start hammering as I thought it over, I felt the blood rush to my own cheeks and a flurry of butterflies break out in my stomach. I had never even considered it a possibility before, especially as of late due to my own terrifying realisations, but thinking back I started to see some of the trifling things that had passed between us differently. I thought about how Delphine pulled me to her while she slept, about how she laughed so heartily at my jokes, I remembered her chasing me around the solarium with a frog, laughing freely as her dimples cut deep into her cheeks, I thought about how we would pass the pipe from one to the other with soft smiles and light giggles, I thought how she read to me each night in the candle light until her eyes became red slits and she practically sagged with weariness. I thought about it all and I formed a question; a question I did not dare ask, nor was I sure that I wanted the answer to.

I was terrified of my feelings to be sure, even more so because they were feelings I should not be feeling at all. What was more terrifying still was even the… possibility that I was not the only one feeling them.

And though petrified, so badly did I want the answer.

 

 

***********

 

 Looking back I dare say the drug I smoked so much of had certainly lowered my inhibitions, but I know the marijuana was not the reason why my blood had started to thrum and why I suddenly was far too hot in the canopied bed. My mind was a lazy haze of swirling thoughts, and the same question kept filtering through my mind again and again.

I decided to get an answer and in that moment I told myself a lie. I told myself I would do what I planned to do simply to put her at ease, I told myself that I would school her in kissing because she seemed so insecure about it, it would be for the greater good. I believe it is quite obvious that I had ulterior motives but I decided that if I could put her at ease with it, then all the better. I should have known then the folly of my actions because a kiss by itself is not nothing… but then again it is hardly anything. A kiss with Delphine however, would be my undoing… my common sense though present but discounted, because I needed to know if what I thought was true, was indeed so.

I must have not spoken for some time because I heard a light “Ahem” that startled me from my thoughts and I turned to see Delphine alit by the candle light, her long curls cascading around in spirals and an anxious look on her face. She looked so resplendent and my stomach flipped… the question tormented me.

I had to know. I took a deep breath and tried to ignore the butterflies that danced in my belly “Look, come here. Sit up.”

Delphine sat up and looked at me with a puzzled expression, her eyebrow arched and an evident question on her face.

“I am going to kiss you.” I removed my glasses and began scooting closer to her in the bed.

 “You are?” She replied in a daze, I must say the look on her face was priceless, her mouth actually dropped open slightly and I couldn’t help grinning at her surprise.

I tilted my head and tried to feign nonchalance gracing her with a large smile “Yes. We are going to conduct an experiment and test your theory. We will kiss, and then you will at least have something to compare Monsieur Delvinquiere’s kisses with. Then we may find out if it is him, or you who are the issue here.”

Delphine’s amber eyes opened wide, shocked and anxious and something else I could not quite identify before she muttered “I….I don’t know…”

I sighed impatient and giddy, the drugs made me reckless and I cut her off mid-sentence, found her cheeks and pulled her towards me. I ran my thumb over the bottom lip that was trapped between pearly teeth and I pulled it free. I lowered my head toward her and our noses brushed before I hesitated a second, wondering how big a mistake this would be before I felt her move forward to close the miniscule space that lingered between us.

I had kissed and been kissed before, and I had been told I was a good at it in turn but those kisses were nothing like this. Delphine had said she scarcely knew how to kiss, well for an apparent amateur she was a natural, for her lips moulded themselves to mine perfectly, a slow and gentle pressure that came and went as her lips pressed and moved against mine. When our lips touched I felt a fire ignite in my belly before spreading outwards and upwards to my head and down to my toes before settling between the apex of my thighs.

At first our kiss was slow, tentative, but as I felt her lips, such soft lips move against my own I couldn’t help but draw her closer, my hands tangling in the mass of thick blond curls. I felt her inhale sharply and her mouth open slightly before I felt a tongue, her tongue, softly caress the crease in my lips. I believe I moaned at the contact though I can no longer be sure, and then I opened myself to her.

Our tongues danced softly, sensually and slowly at the beginning but the fire in my belly was growing hotter and I felt as if I stood on the edge of a cliff, teetering trying to keep my balance, but knowing one gust of wind would be enough to push me over the edge. I felt her pull me closer and though unwilling to do so, I pulled away…our lips parting with an audible smack.

We sat inches from each other, our chests heaving before I said something ridiculous along the lines of “See? There is nothing wrong with you, is there? And trust me, you know how to kiss.”

The blonde gazed at me with wide eyes before she glanced once again to my lips, clear longing written on her face. Seeing her do that…I knew. I knew what I had a slight inkling of before to be true, an inkling that I had so studiously ignored, just as I ignored my own confusing feelings. And now I knew she wanted to kiss me again… and I was dying for her to do so. I watched transfixed as she ran her tongue slowly over her bottom lip before reaching up a hand to cup my cheek. When she at last lifted her eyes to mine again they were heady and filled with fire.

She regarded me steadily her eyes burning brighter with each passing second as she husked “I think you may be right, it is not me who is the problem" before she pulled me abruptly towards her to kiss me again.

This time the kiss was different, it was not soft and hesitant like the first. This kiss was incandescent, it was demanding and it was passionate, a gentle balance of give and take that had my heart exploding in my chest. I felt myself get lost in it, my sense of time stilled and the only sensation I could fathom was her lips on mine before I felt us sink back into the bed.

 

**********

 

 As we lay back my hands came to life, possessing a will of their own as I felt her settle herself on top of me, they ran up the length of her long back down to her sides, and I could not help myself from slipping down, and releasing a startled yet satisfied groan as I found my hands settle on her round, firm buttocks. Her own hands were lost in my hair before they began to steadily move downwards, caressing my neck, collar bone before coursing steadily lower.

I felt them ghost over my nightdress clad breasts and I inhaled sharply, breaking the kiss, my common sense kicking in. In that moment it was not the typical concerns that deterred me, such as the fact that she was a woman, my mark and I inevitably would be conning her out of her fortune. What deterred me most was the fact I had lost any control that I had had over my emotions up until this point. What had I been thinking? I should have known better than to have kissed her, because now the love I had felt and so consciously denied was consuming me, more than I ever thought possible, it was incorporating itself into every fibre of my being. It became a part of me and I couldn’t ever come back from this.

Loving her was out of the question, yet I yearned for it so, I felt it so. I felt myself begin to panic until I met her gaze and it was molten, liquefying me in turn, instantly banishing my doubts and inciting my desire. All thoughts ceased to exist then as she raised herself from me to straddle my thighs and in one fast movement she pulled off her nightdress and tossed it to the side, leaving her completely bare.

Of course I had seen her naked before, but never like this; never with her lips swollen from my kisses and her breasts swaying with each rise and fall of her chest, never with her gaze trained on me like a predator marking its prey. I had never seen her naked like this... naked for me.

Still with her eyes locked to mine she took her plump lip between her two teeth, biting it slowly, then she reached down and placed her hands flat upon me, trailing them over my body until she found my hands. When she found them she grasped them and pulled them up, ever so slowly over the searing heat of her naked skin until they cupped her breasts. I felt them, the slight but yet full weight of them, before she released my hands (now firmly set on her chest) with a soft sigh of pleasure. I felt my own nipples tighten in sympathy as I felt her own tighten under my grip. My eyes had been transfixed on hers but now I lowered them to take in the sight. Her breasts were small but perfect, a rich ivory peak that was marked with a soft pink nipple as its summit. I felt my mouth water at the sight and I just had to know what they would feel like against my tongue.           

Something ignited in me and I surged upwards capturing her lips again in a hungry, insatiable kiss before dropping quickly to draw her breast into my mouth, biting lightly at the hardened nub as she hissed harshly, in pleasure or pain… or possibly both. I wanted more of this. I needed more. I felt her moan into my mouth and it was the beginning of my undoing. Her hands began to wander and found purchase on the edge of my gown. She began to move it up, slowly, purposefully until she stopped, looking into my eyes and asking, asking for permission.

I was almost overcome at the simple gesture but I composed myself and helped her tug it off in a rush. As she settled back down upon me I felt where her most intimate part pressed against my bare skin and it burned like a brand.

I felt my desire, already rampant grow as she lay me back down on the bed, still straddling me and paused to look me over in the candlelight, long and slow… drinking me in, her eyes devouring every curve and dip of my body. I took the occasion to do the same, the sight of her body evoking and stirring pleasure so deep I felt compelled to resist the urge to reach down and relieve myself from this insane wanting before she sighed a contented sigh and lay down upon me. Her thigh fit snugly between my own and I gasped at the contact of her firm skin of her muscular thigh making contact with my hyper sensitive core. She moaned herself at the joining and leaned again to kiss me while I tried to process the strange but addictive sensation of her body stirring against mine.

I felt her hand reach up to cup my breasts before she lifted her head from showering of sweet kisses on my neck to look at them reverently. My heart raced fast and hard as I observed her dip her head again and trail light kisses over my collar bone, over the soft peaks until her lips found purchase on a nipple. She kissed me there and I gasped as the now taut bud was sucked in between pursed lips, suckled upon and then circled by a lithe tongue again and again. I think I must have been moaning freely at this stage because she raised a hand to cover my mouth before rising again to kiss me.

I was suddenly overcome with a desire to take her, to mark her, to make her mine. Scarcely knowing what I was doing, so overcome with lust I was, I used my strong hips to turn her until she was flush on her back, my own thigh coming into contact with her smooth and liquid heat, and feeling it against me I panted.

Dazed and captivated by the exquisite sensation I quite lost the run of myself. I began to kiss her in earnest, my tongue demanding her own, sucking, teasing, and caressing. I finally drew away to look at her lying beneath me, her amber eyes were glazed and dark, again she pulled her lip between her teeth and I leaned and gently captured this plump bottom lip between my own teeth and tugged it free until I felt her lips impatiently claim my own.

Too far gone to contemplate stopping I hungrily began to kiss her neck, thrilled by the appreciative sounds she made and the way she moved, exposing more of the creamy expanse to kiss. I moved lower and I felt her hips buck against mine. As they did I felt her own thigh press firmly into my own centre and I revelled in the bolt of pleasure that thundered through me. I could think of but one thing in that moment, that I wanted all of her, everything she had, everything she was… I wanted it all.

I buried my thigh further between her own, I pushed tight against the hot and moist curls I felt there and I rolled my own hips. Her eyes flew open and she moaned long and low, I smiled and did it again, harder, and in doing so I felt her own thigh push itself against my own wetness and I released a heady sigh of desire.

Still rolling my hips I took a nipple in my mouth and set up a steady rhythm. We moved together as one, out hips roiling, skin sticking, and a sweat beginning to break. We were moaning freely cocooned within the closed curtains of the canopy, softly I am sure to begin with but we became louder and louder. I felt a tightening begin in my stomach and work its way through me, my whole body tightening as if a string was being drawn through me but I needed more. I wanted more.

Barely in control of myself I reached down, (I had such courage it seems to me now) between our bodies, down over her flat and heaving stomach to the soft patch of curls. I felt my hand glide through them and settle in to only what I can describe to be the warmest place on earth. She was liquid fire in my hands, she was inundated, and softer and smoother than silk. As my hand glided through her sensuous folds her back arched and she cried out, much louder this time. I shushed her quietly and pressed hot kisses to her neck, kissing and sucking at the place her blood thrummed strongest.

I moved my fingers purposefully, enjoying the feel of her against my hand, loving how with each slide of my hand against her silk she cried out louder, she became wetter, and then I dropped my hand to the place she was wettest of all. I felt the slight depression there and I ghosted a finger around it, once, twice and I opened my eyes to find her staring at me, eyes wide. I ghosted her entrance one more time before her hips surged upwards and my finger slipped inside of her. We both cried out then loudly, her own cry was raw and animalistic, mine was low and needy. I inhaled a deep breath and slipped the digit deeper, provoking a sharp intake of breath in response, I moved it in and out, slowly and gently savouring the exquisite sensation until she began to gyrate her hips in time to my movements.

Working off instinct I then moved up to caress the small bundle that had provoked her loudest cries until this point before dropping again to where she was open to me. We moved harder and faster then, I felt the heel of my hand brush her core, to receive a guttural groan of approval while my finger delved deeper into her tender depths. I felt surprise followed by a heavy rush of arousal as I basked in her tightening around my fingers, clenching with impossible force while she gasped for air, her hands dug firmly into my behind. She cried faster, and louder until finally her back arched from the bed and she came undone breathing my name upon her lips.

I felt her body spasm from within and as I withdrew, stunned at the sheer physical experience of it, she pulled me close and kissed me deeply. As I lay back, eyes closed and trying to steady my breathing I savoured what had just happened, before I felt her eyes on me. I opened my eyes to meet her gaze as she moved to her side and let her hand trail down my body, stopping at my breasts and touching me there, caressing me until my breath came out ragged and wanting. I saw her smile at my reaction and her hand slid lower, trailing over my lower abdomen before she moved it down to my thigh, her eyes never once broke from mine as she moved her hand between my legs and urged them apart before slowly… finally… dipping her hand to my dripping core. I threw back my head at the long awaited contact and must have shouted because she hushed me quickly, stopping my cries with a sensual kiss while her hand began its deft exploration.

I felt her eyes trained on my face, absorbing it, her attention rapt and in tune to every twitch and sigh of my pleasure. I closed my eyes before I heard a low command come from her “Ma chérie, don’t close your eyes.”- My heart soared at the term of endearment and my eyes flew open locking gazes with her own as she came over me, hand still in place and as she trailed tender, sensual kisses down my body I felt her kiss lower and lower, I felt her finger press into me as I had done to her, an inch at a time until I believed I was filled to bursting. I still feel it now as keenly as I felt it then… and I remember all that happened as if is happening now.

 My mind is foggy… I barely register where she is as she trails lower and she kisses my belly, nuzzling gently as she continues her ministrations and I am completely lost in the sensation. Again she moves lower and my body tenses, finally realising that she has made her way down to sit between my open knees. I felt her looking at me and I lift my head to see her gazing at me… there.

Startled and embarrassed I try to close my legs but she won’t have it, opening them wider while soothing me with soft words and more caresses of her steady hand. Then she does something unthinkable.

She looks at me a moment, her head cocked to the side as if considering something, and finally decided she smirks, removes her finger and pushes my legs back, drinking me in, before dropping her head in one fluid movement to kiss me, there.

I will admit I did not respond with much elegance or grace; instead I grabbed her shoulders and heaved her back up hissing frantically “What are you doing?!!!” as I tried to fight through my shock and inevitable arousal. Delphine was trapped half sitting and half lying between my thighs, my vice grip set on her shoulders, a bewildered expression on her face.

There is a second of hesitation, she tries to disengage my grip from her shoulders but to no avail until I slowly loosen my grip and she smirks at my still shocked expression before she hushes me softly, leaning in and kissing me quickly, leaving a faint taste of what I will later realise is myself on my lips. Pulling back gently she breaks out into a truly radiant smile, her eyes bright and her dimples showing deep in her cheeks before responding bashfully “What I want to do. You shall see. Lay back, please”.

I narrow my eyes before complying and finally allowing her to urge me back onto the pillows. I feel the cool air rush between my clammy thighs as she pries them apart. Expelling a deep moan of satisfaction she settles between my legs, outstretched and then with her eyes glued to mine she slowly extends her tongue to part me, and it slides between me in one leisurely motion before making its way through me in lazy circles. I watch her eyes flutter closed as she picks up her pace.

I think I must have let out a series of loud strangled moans because abruptly she stops what she is doing causing me to let out a desperate cry of disappointment. I lift my head quickly, impatient to discover the source of our interruption and I see her glance quickly at the door before saying “Hush. Cosima, you need to be a little quieter, ma Cherie.” I felt her hesitate before asking shyly, an adoring expression on her face… “So, does it feel good?”

I nod frantically and cannot stop myself from grabbing her head of blonde curls and pushing her down to meet me again in the place where I needed her most.

I hear a low groan sound from her before she again moves her mouth upon me, her tongue moves again and again, soon setting up a steady rhythm that had me gasping for air and rolling my hips. I feel like nothing could be better than this, nothing could ever feel better but then as I feel her long slender finger enter me once more, her becoming one with me again, it was enough to have me almost screaming, crying out for more. More of this…. More of her.

I cannot describe the specific sensations I felt as her tongue caressed me but I can say that felt like every fibre of my body, every beat of my heart, every GRAIN of my being was being torn apart and put back together. I felt like I was being made anew, but like I have said, I had known it the moment we kissed… I could never come back from this, and in that moment I never wanted to.

 

As she gave herself to me, gave herself to the pursuit of my release I felt a pressure wind me so tight I thought I would die before its end; but just as I thought I could take no more I felt her finger turn and curve and grasp within me as she sucked lightly on my bud, with that I exploded with sweet release, dazed as waves of pleasure coursed over me, each grander than the last.

She continued her ministrations through my climax, draining every last shock from me and then she pulled back and moved up to lie beside me. I turned and we looked at each other, our breaths still coming quick and I was awed by her beauty as she smiled a gentle smile and I pulled her to me to kiss her. I was hit by the indescribable and new flavour that lingered on her lips, the flavour of me, but after a moment I relaxed into the kiss and I couldn’t help but wonder if she tasted the same.

We kissed leisurely and long before I felt a drop of moisture touch my cheek. I pulled away to see the tears well in her eyes and I reached to wipe them away before leaning again to kiss her chastely, smoothing her wild curls and I could not stop myself from showering her with soft kisses and gentle murmuring’s of “Mo chroi.” and other nonsense against her skin. I do not remember falling asleep exactly, the last thing I remember was her wrapping herself around me like a vine and me humming contently before the darkness must have descended on me in an instant.

 

**********

 

The next morning I awoke very early in the darkness, the air was still thick and heady within the canopy of the four poster bed and in the few seconds following my awakening, I was filled with a sense of peace that lasted all of three seconds before an inexplicable dread crept over my body. I lay there, paralysed as flashes from the previous night flickered through my mind. I tried to tell myself that what I had dreamed was indeed just that, a dream. I told myself that it, what we did, could not be true; but as I moved I felt the tender soreness, the residual wetness between my legs, I sniffed the air and encountered the primal scent, I raised my hand to my lips an drew a finger into my mouth and tasted it, I tasted her... and I could no longer pretend. It had really happened, it was true.

I began to feel a deep panic take hold and I knew if I did not leave the bed right away I would begin to scream but as I stirred, she awoke and I watched frozen and terrified as she turned, slowly…painfully. I couldn’t see her in the dark but I could practically HEAR her piecing the pieces together as I had done seconds before. I heard a sharp intake of breath and waited for her to say something, anything. I waited in silence and at length Delphine sat up and I saw her mouth open and close, she seemed to be searching for words… but again nothing came out.

We both sat in silence in the dark before I finally leaned to the side table and lit a candle, only to remember too late that I; or I should say we were completely naked. In the candle light I saw her eyes widen as she took my body in again, before turning quickly to scoop up a nightdress. Panicked I did the same and pulled it on over my head, flustered as a blush blazed from within me. I needed to put some distance between us and I slipped from the bed before realising the nightgown was not my own, being far too long it trailed about my calves like that of a child’s. I coughed uncertainly, deciding to ignore it and pretend that everything was normal…that nothing had changed…despite the fact she had changed me, forever. I set about preparing the mistresses things as I normally would. Still she did not speak…and neither did I.

I poured the water and turned to her, taking a deep breath before saying as lightly as I can “Will you come and bathe now Mistress?

I heard her step wordlessly from the bed and take in the comical sight of her in my robe, which was several inches too short for her and reached above her knees. I saw her glance down and take it in, but as I did, she decided not to bring attention to it.

As I stood there I was overcome with a mixture of anxiety and shame. I had the overwhelming desire to wash myself, because I smelled of it. I smelled of her. But I couldn’t, I had to wait for her to be dressed and ready before I could take my leave. She seemed to have the same reservations, because she stood looking from me to the bowl of water before her and hesitated.

It was like she read my mind and for the first time that morning she spoke “Cosima… you may leave me for a few minutes. I wish to have a few moments before breakfast. I shall call you when I need to be dressed." I took my leave with relief, I was unsure if I should say something about…it. But something told me I shouldn’t, for to admit what we did would be opening a door of truth that I was scared to cross. I had no idea what to do for I had never done that, or anything like it before with anyone, never mind another woman.

In Pigalle it was not at all unusual for girls to take lovers before marriage but women lovers? I highly doubted it... I had never much heard of such a thing before between women and the men that did it were looked down upon. To top it off, I had lain with a woman who was betrothed and though the marriage was a sham she was a Lady and I was her maid, the implications were endless. I was terrified, for so many reasons and what scared me most was that I was not sure what it meant.

I again began to think back to my time at La Jonquiere, to all the boys who had tried and failed to woo me, to the friends I had a fierce attachment to…I began to wonder, and it made me scared.

I retreated to my room with relief and I bathed, blushing as I noticed several parts of my body shadowed with light bruises and dressed quickly before returning to dress her. As I took her clothes from the wardrobe I began to tremble because though I had dressed her many times, the idea of touching her after having touched her the way I did last night made me dizzy. Delphine refused to meet my gaze, instead staring somewhere into the vague distance over my head. I stripped her of her nightgown and hurriedly put on her chemise, ignoring the pink bloom that flushed her ivory skin as my fingers fumbled against her, I donned the rest of her underclothes and began to fasten the deep red dress. As she moved back her curls scattered, something caught my eye and dismay and embarrassment washed over me. On her neck, uncovered were a series of small yet livid purple blotches, obvious and incriminating…living proof of our actions of the night before. The dress she was wearing was not viable, it revealed the expanse of her collarbone and long neck that I seemingly ravished in the night…I had not even been aware that I was biting her.

I believe she heard me gasp because she turned and asked me nervously "What?"

I tried to keep the quake from my voice and the blush from my face as I muttered "We must change your dress Miss."

Her surprise seemed to replace her awkwardness for a moment, her arched brow giving her a haughty expression "Change my dress?"

“Yes” was all I could manage. I am sure I was the same colour as the deep plum of my dress.

“Why?” She said as she cast me an impatient look.

I coloured harder and coughed lightly before muttering “Would you care to look in the mirror Miss?”

Impatiently she huffed and strode to her vanity and exhaled sharply at what she saw there. I heard her swallow before she spoke haltingly “Indeed Cosima… this will not do at all. Bring me my dark green dress please, and hurry for I must go to my Uncle soon.”

I rushed to the wardrobe and pulled out her dark green dress with the high collar, the dress she had been wearing the day of my arrival and returned to her to remove the red one. As I did we caught each other’s eye, and this time we did not look away. The fear and shame that consumed me was replaced quickly by that now familiar burning. I believe I stopped breathing in that instant, as her hand rose up of its own accord to caress my own collarbone that I knew bore a bruise of its own, hidden under the silk of my dress.

I kissed her then. I shouldn’t have…but I did, and she kissed me back.

 

This kiss was different to the kisses we had shared the night before, it was not a desperate quest for release, but rather a desperate plea for closeness. Our mouths melded together so perfectly and I felt that strange passion begin to grip me again as she opened her mouth slightly, permitting me entry.

 

But then we heard the bell toll startlingly loud and we jumped apart almost comically. We looked at each other, reading the surprise and fear on each other’s expressions, we pulled back and resumed frantically trying to dress, because at this stage she would certainly be late for her uncle. When she was done and her hair shoddily dressed she passed me without a word and descended to the cellar.

When I think back to that morning I wonder if I had been less of a coward, would things have turned out differently? As I had said…my inkling had proved to be correct, Delphine seemed to be seized by the same strange desires I now had realised that I seemed to harbour. After last night I was sure now that I was not alone in my feelings…I was sure if I had told her I loved her she would have told me back. Perhaps if I had been braver I could have saved her, I could have saved myself from what was to come but I couldn’t do it. I thought seriously for the first time, about telling her all but then I realised…if I were to tell her she would find out te treacherous villain I am, and hate me for it.

I was in love with her but Delphine could never be mine...I would lose her one way or another, and in trying to keep her I would lose everyone else too. So I decided to do nothing, to swallow my feelings, my lust and love and to pretend that this, us, never happened.

 

***********

 

The rest of that day we were more distant and awkward with each other, we walked alone, we ate alone and when the night came I looked at her laying in the bed, the bed in which we had made love, and I knew I wouldn’t be able to restrain myself. Instead I swallowed and came up with some half formed excuse. “Miss, I feel under the weather, and I dare say I do not wish to make you ill. Perhaps it would be better if I were to sleep in my own room.”

As I said it my heart screamed to take her, to hold her but I didn’t. Delphine simply looked at me a long moment with those amber eyes and said “Of course, Cosima. Goodnight.” Before she turned and lay down with her back to me.

Laying in my own bed that night I cursed myself for not going to her, for not drawing her to me but I knew I could not sleep beside her without wanting to kiss her, I could not kiss her without wanting to touch her, I could not touch her without wanting to love her, and how could I love someone to betray them? So I stayed, and when I heard her wake screaming it took all the resolution I had not to run to her… finally at length she calmed herself, while I lay in my cold bed with tears streaming from my eyes and biting my knuckle so hard it bled. And the night after I did the same, again and again until we had run out of time. The game was over.

 

Monsieur came for us.

 

 


	7. Until Death Do Us Part

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time has run out, and the girls are set to flee from the Manor with Monsieur, but can Cosima really allow Delphine to marry the man who intends to steal her fortune and commit her to the asylum, can Delphine go through with marrying the man she despises?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again... ENORMOUS SHOUT OUT TO Mad_Scientist_88... she is the best beta ever and honestly I doubt the chapter would be as half as well composed if it were not for her help *sends her Macaroons ( one of the many benefits of living in France- they are delicious) *  
> So this is a relatively short chapter compared to the one that is to follow but in the interest of flow we decided to split it here :D The next shall be posted next week and while th most challenging chapter to write so far, it was also a huge amount of fun, so Im looking forward to putting it up!
> 
> Thanks for reading, feel free to hit me up in the comment section or on tumblr!
> 
> https://www.tumblr.com/blog/yetanothereireannach

**Chapter 7:**

 

 

Monsieur was due to depart that very morning, and the entire household lined at the door to bid him farewell. Monsieur bowed deeply to Monsieur Leekie, then to Delphine, and thanked them warmly for their hospitality, before thanking the staff in a grand sweeping gesture. He said nothing to me (not that he needed to) but I could have sworn when turning to mount the carriage that awaited him that he gave me a sly grin and wink.

Monsieur Leekie believed him bound for Paris but Delphine and I knew the truth, tonight he would wait in the town of Chantilly before making his way back to the Manor by boat to collect us, row us few miles downstream where we were to be met with a horse and carriage to bring us to the church where they would be married.

As I watched the carriage pull away I felt the tightness in my stomach grow, because I knew that tonight would be the turning point, it was the beginning of the end of the terrible deed…. the foulest part was yet to come. Delphine and I stayed a moment outside, watching the carriage turn out of the gate and into the forest beyond, and as I watched it disappear into the foliage I cursed the man with everything I had, dreading the night ahead of us.

Naturally because of my trepidation each minute of that day passed painfully slowly, though it went much like any other; Delphine went to the library, and I collected her when the clock struck one. Hearing it chime I was conscious that in just 12 hours we would be meeting Monsieur in the darkness by the river. As usual after that we lunched, though neither of us had much of an appetite and we scarcely spoke through the meal. Then on my suggestion we went for a walk of the grounds as we usually would. We smoked our cigarettes in silence and we began our slow trail over the route we were to take tonight to the river, familiarising ourselves with the various holes and stones we could stumble upon in the darkness. We traced our passage silently, distant from each other and though everything looked the same, everything felt different. Everything felt strange, wrong, and wretched.

Throughout the rest of day we were awkward with each other, but that was not unusual in itself for we had been awkward with other ever since _that_ night. We never discussed _it_ , never acknowledged _it_ …not once. We carried on and pretended that _it_ had never happened, even though the air was thick between us with things unsaid. We had not touched since the last kiss we shared that morning, and every time or hands grazed or we even brushed in some fleeting way we started apart, and we made paltry excuses to each other to keep our distance.

When that evening came we tried to behave as though nothing was amiss. I descended once again to eat with the rest of the staff but it seemed to me everyone was in a foul mood of their own, only Elodie was in any sort of form, chatting to me earnestly as usual but I made my excuses to take my leave early. I found I was agitated and giddy and Elodie’s constant babbling was driving me mad.

As I mounted the stairs I took off my glasses and massaged the bridge of my nose. I was alone in the room, Delphine was still dining with her loathsome Uncle and would not be back for some time. I stood and looked around the dark and dreary place that had been my home for the last 5 months, and I began to think about how much I had changed from the young girl that left La Jonquiere… I found myself wondering how I would fit back in there when I felt I was so different from the self I once knew. Shaking myself from my sombre thoughts I began to pack our things into two small bags, Delphine having already told me what to take. I packed several of her nicest dresses, a slew of her underthings, empty notebooks, gloves, her brushes and pins, and her pipe and herbe. I packed my own few things though I had not much, I took my cards, my pencils, a notebook, my own underthings, a battered brush and the beautiful dress Delphine had given me.

We were to travel light.

I found myself drifting to her bed and running my hand across the side where she slept, and then looking across to the place I used to sleep, beside her. All of a sudden I was flooded with memories, each one sweeter than the last. I saw clearly her shy smile when she showed me Darwin’s book for the first time, I felt her sighing my name as I touched her, I gazed at the tears that leaked from her eyes as she observed me after we had lain with each other that night, her gaze amazed and tender. I wondered would she ever smile again where she going and I felt a chasm open deep within me, almost splitting my heart in two. I was unable to contain the sob that rose up from somewhere deep in my belly, and for the first time since starting this wretched plot, I allowed myself to cry.

 

***********

 

I cried for what seemed like hours, my tears still not having reached their end when I heard the Mistress making her ascent and I tried unsuccessfully to compose myself. Delphine came whirling into the room; a ball of anxious energy that paced in circles muttering to herself “Less than four more hours before I am gone from this place, and not a moment too soon, Cosima! Oh, how that man makes my skin _crawl_!”

I didn’t trust myself to speak, my previous sobs not having yet been fully contained and she, surprised by my silence turned to look at me. When she did she registered the red and puffy eyes behind my glasses and took three quick steps towards me, raising her hand to cup my cheek before stopping abruptly before me, an unsure look crossing her face. She hesitated and then asked “Cosima? Are you all right? Why were you crying?”

I would have liked to say I had been able to control myself… but under her gentle gaze I melted and began weeping again in earnest. I let my body slide down onto the worn chaise longue as I battled against the emotional tornado inside of me and willed myself to shake it off. I desperately tried to feign calmness, but I could not withhold the sobs that were rolling through my body as I sputtered “Noth…nothing Miss, I… I’m fine.”

Delphine watched me struggle, and I witnessed a subtle yet visible battle happening somewhere under the surface of her schooled, neutral expression. However after a moment she stepped to the chaise longue, sat herself beside me and pulled me into her arms. I felt myself stiffen as her arms encircled me but then I relaxed, it was not a heated embrace but one embrace of comfort and solace. Her arms enveloped me and I could not help from burying myself further into the hug, tucking my face into the crook of her long neck and snaking my arms around her waist. At this stage I was so overcome I couldn’t have stopped crying if tried but Delphine didn’t press me, she let me stay like that, bundled in her arms while she soothingly rubbed my back.

I think I must have dozed off exhausted from my tears because the next thing I remember was Delphine shaking me gently, whispering “Chéri-…Cosima. You must wake up, we need to prepare. We are to meet Monsieur Delvinquiere in two hours.”

Still half asleep I tried to quiet the spark of joy that flared from her slip of “Chérie” and I glanced at the clock, rubbing at my eyes behind the lenses, shocked that I had been asleep in her arms for over an hour. I coughed trying to hide my embarrassment and quell my rapidly growing anxiety. I sat up and Delphine pulled back and looked at me with a fond yet sad gaze, however to my relief she did not ask me again the reason behind my emotional outburst. Instead she just smiled softly and asked “Feeling better?”

I adjusted my glasses and smiled back, choking down the tears that threatened to make another appearance and disengaged myself from her and stood saying as lightly as I could “Perhaps we should change Miss?” Delphine nodded and we raised ourselves to change our dresses, I helped her out of her soft grey gown into a much simpler and darker one. I wrapped a scarf around her neck even though the bruises I had left were scarcely visible anymore, too weary from my tears even to blush and then I set about changing myself and then made sure I had all I needed packed for us.

As I rattled off the list to her of what I had packed, Delphine moved to the drawer that she habitually kept locked. Pausing to look at me, I could see her hesitate but then she opened it and pulled out a large binder, thick with pages, and the small battered coverless book that I recognized. Delphine said nothing and took care to pack these herself, but as she went to check her parlour I am rather ashamed to say that I went to her bag. I was not interested in the binder, or its contents… I was looking for the book.

I ran my fingers over the battered pages, fondly remembering its contents from what Delphine had read me, when all of a sudden I was gripped with a profound sense of urgency. I needed something, anything to remember her by. I needed a simple memory of some of the good times we had shared for there had been many… but I did not want to take her book. I hesitated a moment trying to decide what to do and then quickly and remorselessly I tore a page from the battered book, hoping she wouldn’t notice. I took the page, its markings still intelligible to me and I tucked it in the bodice of my dress, over my heart. Hearing her approach I tucked the book quickly back in the bag and tried to calm my nerves.

We sat, anxious and quiet in the parlour until she said “Cosima, I would like some time by myself, to get my thoughts in order…would you leave me please?” I was surprised at the request, but too stressed to much overthink it I went to my room and sat, trying to quiet my racing heart and fight the nausea that threatened to overcome me.

 

************

 

 I sat in solitude for about a half an hour before I heard a light knock on the door. Delphine came in, looking dishevelled and wild, she had a deep flush to her cheeks like she had been running but I did not have time to puzzle much about it before she murmured “ We must go now.”

I dressed her quickly in her cloak and I donned mine, we each took a bag and made our way silently from the room. We took care on the creaking stairs, the only sound audible being our rapid breathing and the swooshing of our skirts. We had chosen to leave through the back door because it would make less noise, the front one being of a huge heavy oak that creaked loudly. We stopped at the back door, catching our breaths in the dark and then slowly, tentatively I turned the key that was always stowed in the lock, and then glancing to Delphine I held my breath and turned the screeching knob.

We each flinched at the grating sound but the harsh grinding of the metal lasted for just a moment before we heard the tell-tale click of the door unlatching and we soundlessly pushed it open and made our way out to the Manor grounds.

Once outside Delphine moved ahead of me quickly and confidently to lead me through the familiar terrain and I had to jog to keep up with her. Despite the fact that she was burdened with a heavy bag, her long legs carried her swiftly and in about 20 minutes or so of hard walking we arrived at the spot of river where we had arranged to meet Monsieur. He was not there yet, and we waited in the dark, in a silence so deep I could have sworn that I heard the beating of Delphine’s heart.

Then we heard it, the steady splashing of an oar sinking through water. We could not see very well, but the moon was high enough to eventually make out a shadow approaching across the shining water. At length Monsieur pulled up to the bank, breathing heavily, and he wordlessly gestured to us to throw him the bags, which we did. Monsieur anchored the boat to the riverbed with an oar and I steadied it for Delphine to step in, then I had to make my own way, but this was rather more complicated as the only thing now keeping the boat steady was the oar. I jumped and landed heavily, crying out in the darkness my shin caught the side of the dinghy, pain coursed through me as I struggled to gain my balance, Monsieur hushed me harshly and the boat swayed from side to side. My arms wheeled and I felt myself almost fall back into the water but Delphine’s arms reached out and righted me before I had the chance to hurt myself further.

Monsieur regarded me mutinously, glancing about him through the darkness, concerned my noise had carried. He paused a moment and gathered himself, he gave us a nod before murmuring “Are we ready?” and after we agreed he began again the painstaking labour of bringing us downstream. He must have rowed for more than an hour and we sat in silence, the only sounds being the water lapping against the boat and Monsieur’s breath growing harsher and harsher. Finally, we arrived at the stretch of bank and we saw a carriage waiting for us. Monsieur tossed a rope to the driver who awaited us and he pulled us in, we each stepped unsteadily from the boat onto land and right away Monsieur bundled us into the carriage.

 

***********

 

“So this was it then” I thought to myself in disbelief as we trundled along through the night. We had done it, we had gotten her away from the manor and now we were on our way to their “wedding”. I glanced at Delphine in the weak, swaying candlelight…her hair was wild and her sombre dress was speckled with mud. She had a fleck of it on her cheek and I itched to wipe it away, but I did not dare in front of Monsieur fearing the simple action draw his attention to my fear, or to my affection. Her face was expressionless but I knew her well enough to know she was scared, the set of her mouth was grim and she ever so subtly was chewing the inside of her lip. She was scared… and so she should be.

At length we arrived at the rickety little church, and looking at it I pressed my lips together, struggling to keep my thoughts in for the dilapidated exterior was grim and forbidding. Delphine looked at it too… she descended from the carriage and stared up at it, her face was emotionless, she did not shake, and she did not look scared, despite the fact I believed her to be terrified. Instead she just looked… hollow.

Monsieur stepped down from the carriage and moved directly towards the church but Delphine stopped him, holding up a hand and saying “Felix. I should like a cigarette before we go in.” He acquiesced though rather gracelessly and we stood, in the pitch blackness, each of us inhaling deeply on our cigarettes, the only light surrounding us coming from the glowing ends.

In minutes we had finished and Felix lifted an eyebrow and stubbed his out. “Are you ready… Darling?”

I cringed at the false endearment and felt rather than heard Delphine take a deep breath before wordlessly following him into the church.

Inside waiting for us was the Priest, a rotund and red faced man with the strong smell of whiskey on his breath and a stooped craggy toothed old-woman who owned the cottage we would be staying in after the wedding. The old lady was called Mrs Piquet… her and I were to be the witnesses. Monsieur passed me the rings and I slipped them silently into my pocket.

The church was an ugly one, small, grey stone and crude… in the darkness of the night the inside seemed blacker than ever and the only light that was cast upon us came from the weak flickering candles on the alter.

Felix did not dally, he strode directly to the priest and shook his hand before beckoning Delphine to follow. When she joined him, he reached for her hands and nodded to the priest to begin the ceremony. There she stood, pale as snow in her dark and heavy dress, tall and proud even as Monsieur impatiently jiggled beside her. The priest began, but his words were nearly unintelligible as he slurred his way through the sacrament.

I stood there and I watched… feeling the chasm that had been made in my heart grew wider and wider. I asked myself how I could be doing this to her. I had slept beside Delphine every night, I had kissed her, I had touched her, I had lain with her... I loved her. I cursed myself for this love I felt, for allowing myself to love her more than anyone (except perhaps Mrs S). It was such an unwise thing, I had allowed myself to fall in love with her, knowing that I meant to be her ruin. I was in one word, a fool.

I couldn’t stop my mind spinning from one dark thought to another. Delphine was marrying that man, a man who didn’t love her, and who would see to it that she was locked away rather than to have to suffer even the slightest interaction with his soon to be wife. I felt myself begin to tremble... Was I really going to allow this to happen?

It seemed like fate called because in that very instant, when I was at my most unsure as I heard the words slur out of the mouth of the priest and they chilled me to the bone “Is there any reason to why these two people shouldn’t be married?” I felt myself start forward, an actual physical struggle taking place with in me, my heart screamed to save her, and I reached out a hand towards her, but my brain however screamed “It is too late! Think of the money Cosima!” and I felt it anchor me in place. The words flooded to the tip of my tongue… choking trying to keep them in. I struggled, I coughed and I saw Felix grow tense, the priest stopped and gave me a panicked look and Delphine stared at me with an unreadable expression on her face. I saw her shake her head, slightly, just ever so slightly and the words died on my tongue. Could she actually _want_ this? Had I been wrong? I struggled another moment, saying nothing and the priest gathered himself and continued, and I let out the breath I had been holding and tried to ignore the crushing sensation in my chest. Fate had indeed given me a chance, and later… thinking back, I cursed myself for not having taken it.

Then it came.

“Do you, Felix Delvinquiere take her, Delphine Cormier to be your lawful wedded wife?”

Felix smiled and stopped his fidgeting “I do.”

Then the priest turned to Delphine, gazing at her blearily before he coughed harshly and asked “And do you, Delphine Cormier take him, Felix Delvinquiere to be you lawful wedded husband?” I felt bile rise to my throat as my mind SCREAMED at her to say no… but she didn’t.

Delphine took a deep breath, closed her eyes a moment and whispered “I do.”

This was where I was supposed to pass them the rings but I was numb, my mind ceased to function. Monsieur came to prod me none too gently and shake me from my stupor; he waited impatiently as my hand dropped to my pocket. I brought out two rings and almost dropped them because my hands were shaking so hard. Felix took them with a stern glare and then as they slipped the rings on their fingers and the priest said it… and my heart, already split in two, shattered.

“I now pronounce you man and wife.”

Felix leaned in to kiss her, and though quick and chaste, I saw her fight off a grimace. As I watched their dry lips meet I couldn’t help but feel the ghost of her lips pressing against mine, so soft, so tender before tears welled in my eyes and I thought I should faint.


	8. Beauty, More than Bitterness, Makes the Heart Break.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Final instalment of part one: The wedding is done, Delphine is married, and Cosima heartbroken. The end is nigh but will Cosima be able to go through with seeing Delphine to the madhouse?  
> Warning: M rating!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey my lovely readers!!! Again, I need to send a huge shout out to Mad_Scientist_88 because without her the chapters would be all over the place, she is an exceptionally good beta! We worked hard on this one, as I was having a hard time to get it right. Starting from next week hopefully, we will be starting part two which will be from Delphine's perspective! 
> 
> I hope you enjoy and as always comments and criticism is welcome:D
> 
> https://www.tumblr.com/blog/yetanothereireannach
> 
> Merry Christmas! 
> 
> P.S Heads up: M rated chapter

 

**Chapter 8:**

 

Felix linked arms with his… wife… and led her from the church. The four of us, Delphine, Monsieur, Madame Piquet and I all bundled into the carriage that awaited us to bring us to the old woman’s nondescript and shabby cottage. Felix had said it was an inn, but he had lied, it was simply this old crone’s home, and he had paid her for the lodging and keeping of us.

Mrs Piquet led us up to the second floor, to a set of mean and scruffy rooms, lit by fires in the grate. Mine was smaller than my room at the manor, and the bed lumpy and cramped. Delphine’s room, or I should say, _their_ room was filled with a sagging double bed and an ugly wardrobe. Delphine walked in and her eyes fell to the double bed. I saw her inhale sharply before her eyes fluttered closed and she gathered herself. Monsieur came into the room with an awkward cough, dropping the bags on the bed, muttering “Cosima, see to that for your Mistress, won’t you?” then he paused uncomfortably in the cramped room and moved to kiss Delphine on the cheek “My Sweet, I shall smoke a cigarette and take a drink with our host my darling. Why don’t you get yourself settled? I shall see you soon.” With that he turned on his heel and left us quite alone in the dingy, cold room.

Delphine wordlessly moved by the fire and gestured to me to prepare her for bed. I went to her silently, still shaken from the moment at the church, still running through what could have come out of my mouth if I hadn’t seen Delphine’s pleading eyes urging me not to. My hands shook, my heart was shattered, all I wished to do was retire myself to my room and sob what was left of my heart into my pillow. Not looking at her, I removed her dress and under things, and pulled on the nightgown, her skin, shining pale ivory was dotted with goose bumps and she was shivered so hard her teeth chattered.

Delphine met my gaze and for the first time that night, she looked truly afraid. I saw her eyes scan my face, searchingly, and I flinched from her regard. I did not want her to see how much I hurt. I saw her glance once again to the bed and shudder, and I turned from her, shuddering myself at the thought of what would be happening on that bed later tonight.

I still refused to look at her and Delphine continued to watch me as I began to unpack her things and said quite abruptly “Cosima. I am a married woman now” into the silence. I knew in theory that Delphine disliked Monsieur, I knew she didn’t want him, she did not desire him and that the idea of sharing his bed filled her with dread but I realised that Delphine had not prepared herself for the reality of what would happen _after_ the wedding, and I do not believe I had either. The mere thought of it suffocated me.

I stopped what I was doing and turned to her, registering her fear and trying desperately to think of some words of comfort but I was left speechless at the sight of her: she stood tall and ridged in the candle light, her hair was lose and tumbled about her brow and shoulders, her face, though sombre was heart splittingly beautiful. Looking at her a brief and misplaced thought crossed my mind “She is his now. I will never have her again” the thought was maddeningly painful, almost as if someone had twisted a knife in my gut. The sharp pain pulled me from my stupor and as I looked into Delphine’s shining amber orbs one thing became clear, she was quite plainly petrified. Delphine’s amber eyes glowed with terror as she said quietly “I think I have made a mistake, Cosima.”

Her tone and her words chilled me to the bone, quite as if a bucket of frigid water had been thrown over me. I had no idea what to say so I muttered “Miss… it won’t be so bad… it will be over in a moment.” despite the fact the mere idea of anyone else’s hands on her but my own killed me. I saw her head jerk slightly at my comment and she looked away from me a moment, and when she looked back to me my heart stuttered in my chest. In an instant her fear had been stripped away and replaced by something else. My heart began to beat harder at the sight of Delphine’s regard, for she gazed at me with such a clear and desperate longing and something else I could not quite place …it seemed something close to… regret? I couldn’t tell. She opened her mouth to speak and I turned away… I couldn’t hear what she wanted to say… I couldn’t bear it, I felt like I was close to breaking down as it was. I couldn’t pretend I didn’t feel her pain of fear. Not when there was no going back.

I attempted to distract her, thinking perhaps smoking would calm her “Miss, it will be fine. Try not to worry. Do you think I should take out your pipe and Herbe…?”

I babbled and turned away as I tried to keep myself from spilling everything to her… the truth, my part in the plot and even my love for her, for her gaze was so naked, so open and fearful I felt I could not meet it with my endless lies. As my hands fumbled within her bag I heard her say “Come here.” Her voice was low, determined. I refused to look at her, I clenched my hands by my sides, trying with every fibre of my being to resist the pull I felt to her at the sound of her voice.

She tried again “Cosima.”

I felt my body move of its own accord towards her but we did not touch, I still couldn’t look at her, I wouldn’t. If I did I would kiss her, and I couldn’t trust myself to ever be able to stop. Tears blurred my vision and then I felt her hands grasp my cheeks, tilting my head ever so gently but insistently at my feeble resistance, and then she drew me to her lips with another soft “Come here”.

Delphine kissed me then, a kiss so filled with longing and I could not help but respond, my own lips having a mind of their own, craving hers like the addict I was. Our mouths moulded to each other like they were two halves of a whole, our tongues teased and danced while we lost ourselves in each other for what seemed like forever before I felt her begin to unbutton my dress.

 

I pulled away to meet her gaze and glanced at the door for the reality of her husband being down stairs not being forgotten. When our eyes met again I did not encounter lust there like I had expected to, but sorrow. It touched me deeply because her sorrow reflected my own. I stilled Delphine’s wandering hands and tried to compose myself and reign in the desperate yet melancholic longing inside me. We stood, foreheads pressed against each other and staring into each other’s eyes while we each tried to regain our breath.

Suddenly exhausted, I felt myself sag into her and my head found its now familiar place in the crook of her neck. I kissed her there once, my lips trailing over the soft skin, not being able to resist reaching out and touching the skin softly with the tip of my tongue before I felt her pull back, though her eyes raked me over with heat and I could feel the fear radiating off her… she glanced once to the door… cringing at the hearty booms of laughter that filtered up the stairs. Delphine took a deep breath and her eyes flashed back to me, desperate and yet still flecked with affection “Please Cosima. Let me…be with you.”

I felt fire run through my veins but this… this wasn’t right. How could I have her touch me again to give her up… would I be able to bear it? I asked myself the question, but at the same time I knew I couldn’t _not_ have her again, not when this would be the last time I ever would. However, I was not a fool, she was a married woman now sham or not, her husband could come up any minute…. the husband that would be lodging her in a madhouse as soon as possible, with my help.

I closed my eyes and supressed the growing yearning that I was feeling, this thick desire that enveloped me like a cloud rendering my mind unclear…I tried to focus on the terrible facts and to supress my desperation for her and I muttered “Delphine. We can’t.”

Delphine regarded me a moment, her face blank, her head tilted slightly to the side and then suddenly, abruptly she pulled me to her, kissing me savagely, her mouth claiming mine in a voracious fury. I felt her pull away, panting heavily as she pressed her forehead against mine, she kept her eyes squeezed shut and I heard her murmur to herself in scarcely more than a breath “What have I done?” before kissing me again, as ravenously as before.

I was completely caught off guard, admittedly I felt my body respond to her kiss but I was disturbed by her words, as I was by her aggressive grasping and kissing. It felt strange, like she wasn’t kissing _me_ but was rather desperately trying to distract herself from her fear. Even so I wanted her so badly…I felt my knees quake with desire and conscious as I was of her nightgown being the only boundary keeping me from her skin, it took all the resolve I had to keep my hand slipping between the soft apex of her thighs.

Even as I tried to gently disengage from her clutches I found I couldn’t help but kiss her back until I felt her move me backwards towards the bed. I almost stumbled as I felt my calves hit the frame, and she was still kissing me, her hands lost in my hair while I tried fruitlessly to gather some self-resolve. Reality hit when in one quick movement Delphine pushed me and I fell back hard onto the sagging mattress, and then moved quickly to straddle me in her nightgown.

Finally having come to my senses I tried to grasp at her hands, hissing at her that we could be discovered any second but she was unstoppable. Delphine pushed up my skirts and in one fast movement she pulled my drawers down to pool around my ankles, before removing them completely. Slightly panicked now I sat up and grasped at her arms, hard this time, stopping her assault and she came to her senses in an instant… she seemed to droop, as if all the energy and fire drained from her.

Delphine’s eyes widened in shock and she shook her head gently, as if she couldn’t believe what she had been doing. She blinked at the tears in her eyes, falling thick and fast and she whispered “Mon Dieu...Cosima, I’m so sorry. I don’t know what I…I’m sorry. But… I _need_ this, Cosima. I need this to help me get through… what is to come. I need something good to come of this night. Please. I know you want it too, so just please, one last time. Let me be with you.”

Despite previous panic and then the sadness and desperation of her plea I couldn’t help feeling the fire that was already burning between my legs grow hotter by the second. She was right, I did want this. More than anything. She needed something good to come of this night…well so did I.

Looking up at her beautiful face, surrounded by her gorgeous curls, I decided quickly. I pulled her to me to kiss me, meeting her passion with my own as she lay me back, and I saw that the sadness that had been in her eyes was now replaced by a thick desire. We kissed and she pulled back to kiss me on the nose, stunning me with the affectionate and loving gesture before she ran her hands up the length of my neck while murmuring against my lips “May I?”

I was aroused, heavily aroused but I was still aware of the risk we were taking, I hesitated a second before replying, my own voice a low husk “Yes. But we must be quick, he could be back any second.”

Delphine wasted no time, she darted to the door to drop the latch and then settled herself between my legs, not bothering with any sort of preamble as she spread them and buried her tongue in me. I had not been expecting it to be quite so quick but I felt entire body flush in an instant at the exquisite sensation. I bit my arm trying to keep myself from moaning, knowing the sound would carry in the dilapidated little cottage.

I felt one of Delphine’s hands slide up to clasp at one of my breasts, and I felt the soft and worn edges of the page I had torn from her book press tight against me as she squeezed. I was overcome with pleasure as she ravished me, moving her hands back down to my hips to tilt my pelvis higher into her plundering mouth as she moved her tongue in slow but precise patterns before pressing herself into my core.

Despite its rather desperate and abrupt beginning there was something unmistakably tender to the way she was so studiously making love to me. She went slowly, consciously and I couldn’t help but respond with tenderness myself as I reached for her hand, clasping it in my own as she worked me over, while the other caressed her face gently, sometimes absentmindedly playing with a stray curl. Before long my chest was heaving and she lifted her gaze to mine as she began to increase her pace and I did not look away. I had to withdraw one of my hands to bite down on, desperately trying to withhold the moans of pleasure she was drawing from me. Delphine never let up, with our still gazes locked I felt the tension grow tighter and tighter before finally… inevitably, it broke. I cried my moans of ecstasy into my hand and lay back spent on the bed, my chest heaving and tears perilously close to the surface.

As I lay there, chest heaving, Delphine seemed to come to her senses from the reckless passion that had seized us and realise the precariousness of our situation. The room was a mess, most of her things remained unpacked and we both looked utterly dishevelled. Delphine drew back slowly wiping her mouth with the back of her hand while surveying the still packed clothes, she scooped up my drawers from the floor and passed them to me with a distracted smile. I stood up shakily while trying to regain my breath watching as Delphine tried to right the bed and shove her remaining clothes in the wardrobe. Finally recovered I began to help her, and just as well because it was not before long we heard the heavy footsteps start on the stairs. We glanced at each other in panic and Delphine hissed at me to unlatch the door, while she ran to the washbowl and began desperately washing her face. A knock sounded and Delphine called out quickly “Just a moment.” Then, to my surprise she took two long strides to meet me, seized my hands tenderly and bent to kiss my lips softly before whispering “Thank you Cosima.” against my lips.

I was thrown by the rawness of the gesture and I wanted nothing more than to pull her back to me then, but with an empty smile she pulled away. Delphine moved to stand by the bed, she straightened her nightgown, and she arranged her face into a blank mask and called “You may come in”.

The door opened and there was Monsieur, with a glazed look in his eye and reeking of cigarettes and whiskey. He swayed in the doorway and called out much too loudly “My wife!!! Are you ready for bed my sweet??”

I had to look away, I was quite disgusted. I knew what was to happen, and I couldn’t bear it… my entire being willed me to stop it…to keep him from having her because my heart, my body _believed_ she was MINE. I struggled a moment, and after a beat I noticed Monsieur regard me oddly, as did Delphine for I stayed rooted to the spot, silent and glaring. I saw Delphine’s eyes widen slightly, an unspoken question or plea, I am not sure; and I came to my senses. I did not say a word to him, but just cast him a filthy look before turning to Delphine and muttering lowly “Will that be all Miss?

Delphine no longer looked scared, but once again she seemed impenetrable and distant, as if she had walled herself away from the world. With a slight sigh she murmured “Yes Cosima. Good night.”

I went to my own room and stripped off my clothes, I washed away the wetness from between my legs and tried to keep from imagining what could be happening in the room across the hall. I refused to listen, hugging the sagging pillow to my ears and I sang to myself, trying to lull myself to sleep but it escaped me. I stayed awake all night just imagining the desperate look in her eyes as she begged me to let her have something good on this night, and I hated myself, I hated myself so much.

Now looking back I think something changed in me that night after I left them. I had seen the woman I loved marry another, and I had done nothing to stop it. I was a liar, and a cheat and so was her husband. Though I knew the marriage was a farce, that it was just a ploy to swindle her out of her fortune, I still couldn’t deal with the fact that Delphine was _his_ now, that he had had her in the way that I wanted her, he had her in the way I could never have her and he was just going to throw her away. I imagined him fucking her for the money, fucking the woman I loved and it made me hateful, it made me angry.

I think this was the moment that changed me, that made me become so much more hardened, so much bitter and impatient… a previously unknown aggression seeped out, and irritation for everything set in. I willed desperately to get the dirty deed done so I could go home and forget. I willed the part of me that loved her to die because loving her seemed to be the worst thing ever to have happened to me. I lay there staring at the ceiling thinking about it all night, thinking about how I could kill it.

 

***********

 

 

The next morning Monsieur knocked on my door, I was already dressed and ready in my plum dress, the Bordeaux one having been muddied by the flight last night. He stood there, leaning against the door post, a cocky look in his eyes as he said your “Your _Mistress_ needs dressing.” casting me a wink and a sly smirk and then pulling away before descending the stairs whistling. I stared after him a long minute, trying to contain the jealousy that was eating me alive. Him… that bastard had lain with Delphine last night and he had the _nerve_ to come strutting into my room like a cock among hens. Of course, he could not have known the effect his little smirk would have on me but it took all I had not to charge down the stairs and hurl myself at him. I stood alone in my shabby room quivering with fury before taking a deep breath and trying so desperately not to fall into the well of rage and jealously that I was reeling on the edge of.

I crossed the hall to the door to Delphine’s room. I took a deep breath, and willed my hands to stop shaking as I entered. It was still cold and damp despite the fire that burned low in the grate. As came in I saw Delphine was still in bed, sitting on the rumpled sheets, with an empty look in her eyes and an untouched plate of food beside her. My nostrils flared at the sight of her in the bed and I was overcome with deep and irrational resentment, and I allowed myself scrutinise her a moment as she continued to sit in silence, paying me no mind.

I studied her hard, and as I did I found myself becoming more and more irate. It is difficult to explain exactly what irked me so, but I believe I had somehow expected Delphine to be changed after having consummated the marriage with Monsieur. I think that I believed she would be marked or tainted to me somehow, but to my despair she still _felt_ mine…my heart _believed_ that she was mine. Except she wasn’t, she never was and she never would be.

I looked at her striking face, pale and tired but still undeniably beautiful, so breathtakingly exquisite. My eyes traced her sculpted cheekbones, they took in her eyes that looked past me that were a myriad of gold, green and brown and then they honed in on the tiny freckle under the left side of her lip, the freckle I had lavished with many a kiss _that_ night at the manor before we had slipped off into sleep. I felt my stomach clench as I asked myself if Monsieur had paid this freckle any mind. Did he touch her as I had, did she respond to his touch as she had to mine? Rage coiled inside my belly and jealousy swallowed me whole. I couldn’t stand the sight of her there. In that bed, the bed she had had me on… the bed that he had had _her_ on.

She still did not acknowledge me as I stood in the room silently fuming, but just continued to stare out of the window. I felt anguish at her not even _looking_ at me after what had happened between us last night and I refused it, I pushed it away and I tried to distract myself by pulling her clothes from the dresser. I chose a lovely duck egg blue dress, and moved to the bed, still not trusting myself to speak. I stood there, plainly waiting for her to come and dress, I kept silent and at length she finally turned her eyes to me and looking at me with her distant gaze saying “I wish to wear the dress I wore yesterday.”

I raised my eyebrows and looked down to the dress in my hands, and then turned my gaze to the dark dress that hung on the back of a chair and regarded it doubtfully, for it was nothing she would usually wear. It was a plain dress, made of dark buff material, one that I had chosen for the flight because of its very plainness. Delphine usually liked to be well dressed and certainly took pride in her appearance but as I was exhausted, jealous and frankly hurt, I acquiesced quickly, and moved to replace the dress in the wardrobe and to take the other from the chair.

As I stood with her things in my hands, ready to dress her she shocked me by saying “Cosima I will do it myself. I shall just need you to fasten the dress when I am finished”

I stood rooted to the spot gaping for ladies did NOT dress themselves and in the 5 months we had spent together she never had. I wanted to protest, but how could I? How could I tell a grown woman not to dress herself? As I stood, baffled, I hesitantly placed her things on the bed and then not looking at me Delphine stood and took them before quickly muttering “The sheets must be changed.”

My heart constricted and again I felt an overwhelming ire bubble at the surface, but I refrained and simply nodded trying to feign indifference. I pulled off the sheets quickly, not stopping, not looking, I bundled them and brought them downstairs to Mrs Piquet.

The old lady cackled heartily before exclaiming “That is one less for the nunnery eh?” I scowled and pushed my glasses up onto my nose and chose not to answer, for fear of saying aloud the foul curses that crossed my mind. I returned upstairs to Delphine’s side, but she just sat there in the bed, as she had been that morning, not speaking, not eating and not even a suggestion of reading Darwin was enough to peak her interest. I sat by her side, trying to keep myself from thinking of the night before, trying not to think of her lips on mine or his lips on hers. I was driving myself mad.

 

 

***********

 

Mrs Piquet, the owner of the house was an old crone who I disliked instantly. She doted on Monsieur… faffing about him like a proper young damsel despite the fact she was a bitter withered old hag. I sound bitter, perhaps I still am… but Mrs Piquet treated me with a mixture of disdain and misplaced familiarity and quite openly disliked Delphine, treating her with mild contempt no doubt in some way questioning and judging the circumstances that she believed must have led to her shady union (but isn’t it funny how the man is never judged as harshly in the same situation, but rather he seems to be celebrated for it, and even congratulated for the fact he went the “extra mile" to make it legal?).

Indeed I might hate the old bat, but she would still be fundamental in convincing the Doctor to take Delphine, and it was my job to lay the foundations of the notion of madness with her, and this foundation Monsieur would build upon. That morning she came at length to collect the breakfast tray and sniffed hard and haughtily when she saw it went untouched. She tried asking Delphine if something was unsatisfactory but she was solidly ignored by the blonde, causing her to storm from the room in a sulk.

Later when she brought us tea, I saw her look at Delphine with a startled gaze, for she had noticed that the blonde had not moved all day, that she had remained in bed, staring distantly in the same spot, all morning long. When I brought the tea tray down (also untouched) to the kitchen she took me aside and asked me in a low tone “Is she… alright? Pardon me asking but… has she just been sitting there, staring all morning?”

I considered saying nothing but I quickly decided the sooner I got this over with the better because though the deed was foul, I felt if I stayed living this nightmare much longer I would be driven mad myself. I steeled myself and told myself firmly; the first step is always the hardest.

I took a deep breath and trained my tone to become halting and confiding “Oh yes… she is fine. She does that quite often, she is a lovely girl but also just a bit…odd.”

I let that thought settle with her, watched her gaze grow worried and sour before I continued “Madame Piquet, you need not be worried, she has always been this way but I dare say the Master is a little disappointed. I believe he had hoped after the wedding she would be a little more…lucid.”

Her eyes bulged and she swallowed quickly “Lucid?!”

 

I tried to keep my expression sympathetic and sincere but I felt the words coming off my tongue and they tasted like blood. I responded hesitantly, pretending I did not want to give away too much, and I could see the old bat was falling for every word.

“Yes well, she goes in and out of these phases of inactivity, where she just sits there and gazes at the wall. It just comes on her like a wave. I dare say the master had hoped extracting her from her dreary house would help but alas… he has been let down.”

I saw her wiry brows contract in sympathy for Monsieur and tried not to scoff at the evident torch that she burned for the lying bastard before an abrupt thought came to her, causing her to blink rapidly and lower her voice, hissing “She is not mad is she?”

I got no satisfaction from it, but I had done my job well, I paused and waited ten long seconds before answering, watching her face grow tenser as each second passed before responding “Mad? No, she is just…strange in her ways. You have nothing to worry about.”

Madame Piquet processed this, her eyes narrowed and she glanced upwards towards the ceiling, to the room where we knew Delphine sat staring, before saying “the poor lamb”. She said soft words but I knew she was not sorry… I had frightened her, and I had planted the seed of the notion of madness in her house and I saw her look at the Mistress slyly with each glance after that, as if afraid she could begin to rant and rave any second. We would be forced to stay at the two more days before the marriage would be legally binding and two more after that, as we had got word Monsieur Leekie had sent people out looking for Delphine in force, and Monsieur dared not move until he was sure he could get her away and into the madhouse without incident.

 

**********

 

 

Monsieur wasted no time getting things in order, he set off one afternoon with talk of organising our trains back to Paris, and this was so much puff… I knew he was out making arrangements with the directors of the asylum.

It did not rest easy with me, what we were about to do but as the days passed I saw Delphine grow more and more despondent and I ached ever more for the vileness to be done for both our sakes. Delphine had almost completely stopped eating, and she grew more wretched, paler and thinner by the day.

The eyes that were usually so luminous, so brilliant, became dull and listless and I dare say she smoked far too much of the Herbe, but she said it was the only thing that relaxed her and calmed her stomach enough to eat, though she rarely did. More often than not she stared out the window, exhaling thick plumes of smoke and gazing into the rolling countryside. Her exquisite mass of curls grew wild and unkempt… she would not let me touch or dress her hair, but she would not brush it herself and stayed growing scruffier by the day.

In fact, she would not let me touch her at all, and if I did happen to brush her by chance she would gasp and recoil as if any contact with my skin was corrosive. At first I was hurt by her coldness, but then I began to think it was all for the better… there was no point in paying mind to what had happened between us… not now she was Monsieur’s wife. I had difficulties handling this, accepting that he slept beside her night after night and even though I knew it was not her desire or fault I became rather colder to her myself, and I used my jealously like a shield that allowed me to do the terrible things I did.

We no longer talked, we no longer joked, and she seemed to have lost all interest in everything, even her passion for science, I would try to broach a topic…one I knew well would usually have provoked an deep and complex debate but she just looked at me, her gaze cloudy and distant, before she turned away again, saying nothing. I for my part, let her draw into herself, and I in turn withdrew into the well of rage that seemed to sustain me in those dark days.

Delphine also cast aside her beautiful myriad of dresses, she would not wear anything but her nightclothes or the dress she had travelled in, and my hands grew chapped from having to wash it so often in in the trough of frigid water. One day I was trying to talk her into tidying herself up a bit, I held up one of her favourite gowns; the one of dark green and she looked it over, and said to me, “I want you to have it.”

I spluttered and protested but she began to pace, speaking lowly, quickly and she actually sounded quite unhinged for a moment as she stammered “I want you to have it Cosima. I cannot bear to wear the things from the Manor and I dare say it would suit you so well. Please, keep it. ”

Seeing her look so eager, so desperate, I swallowed my protests and I complied. I thought back to the Manor, to the plum dress and my eyes stung at the memory of her getting me ready. This time was different, this time Delphine did not help me to put it on instead she bid me to take it to my room. This time she did not adjust the size or length but left me to do it myself. I had not wanted the dress, but she insisted so strongly and I must say I was rather relieved to have something to do to pass the time as I made the adjustments.

I spent all evening tailoring it and the next day I put it on, the dark green silk was kind to my complexion and though I doubt I looked as elegant as Delphine in it, I know it suited me well.

When she saw me she smiled for the first time since the wedding “Cosima, you look beautiful.” I could not help but blush at this despite the fact there was no heat to her words. After looking me over approvingly she hesitated, before taking a deep breath and continuing in a detached tone “I must say you have become quite the lady since we have met, which is fitting, because once the marriage is legal and I have access to my money you will no longer be my maid… You shall be my companion, and quite the lady yourself. I shall get you your own maid, and you shall have a fine house beside ours...”

I turned from her as she spoke, her words were like knives in every part of me… I couldn’t bear her kindness, knowing that she would be doing none of those things, knowing she would find me out to be the liar I was in a matter of days.

I let her ramble on for a few moments before she seemed to trail off into her own thoughts, at last deeming it safe I turned to find her appraising me again. I jumped a little when she suddenly moved forward to grasp a long mahogany tendril that had escaped from its loose chignon, and she sighed looking at me, “How stunning you look with your hair dressed so… I dare say I have never let my hair become so unruly but all is the better. I wish to be plainer… No one would ever thing me to be the wife of a grand man like Monsieur Delvinquiere, would they?”

I blinked at her processing the oddness of her remark and then I understood with a miserable shiver why she been letting herself grow so uncared for. Delphine thought if she looked less beautiful, that Monsieur wouldn’t want her. I thought about how much her behaviour had changed since the wedding night, the behaviour I refused to acknowledge because… because I was jealous?

I began to tremble hard, thinking about what he must be inflicting upon her each night for her to have grown so fretful. I seethed. I knew to make the legally binding the marriage had to be… consummated… Once. Only once was necessary and it disgusted and incensed me to think of him forcing himself upon her. Until that point I had ignored him, I ignored their union, I had solidly ignored what went on between them while doing what I needed to do in a detached and cold manner. I had _needed_ to close my eyes to it because it was eating me alive, but now I saw what I had let happen. I would never forgive myself for my selfishness.

Indeed, I was going to a terrible and despicable thing but I had not signed up to allow him to abuse her in the meantime and seeing her so sad, so dishevelled and on edge I felt something break in me. I decided right then if he touched her again, I would kill him, I would tell him this was over now and leave no room for confusion.

I believe I was a woman possessed, and looking back I can recognise the build-up of rage that was sired on the night of their wedding, and the jealously I had been plagued with ever since. The last thing I remember clearly were Delphine’s eyes widening at my expression before I turned on my heel without a word and made my way down stairs. I stopped, hesitating in the kitchen, making sure Mrs Piquet was nowhere near, and I grabbed a knife from the table and trudged out to the yard while Monsieur smoked a cigarette sitting on a log

I walked quickly and quietly, I came up behind him grabbed his head hard, causing his hat to tumble into the grass and then I pointed the blade to his jugular. Feeling the edge against his throat he gasped, dropping his cigarette and singing his trousers before sputtering “Delph… Cos… what!!!???”

I pressed harder and bent to whisper harshly in his ear “It’s Cosima, you prick. Now you listen to me and listen well. You’ve done it. The marriage is legal. Your plan is going ahead and you no longer need to _force_ yourself on her, do you hear me?”

Monsieur dared not struggle, he gulped and I felt his Adams apple flex against the knife-edge before he stammered “But I… I never-!”

I cut him off, pushing the blade harder against his milky throat while practically growling “One finger, lay one finger on her again Felix, and I’ll kill you. Do you understand me? I’ve had enough of this. Send for the doctor tomorrow, I want this over with. I want to be home in La Jonquiere by next week _with_ my money. But I mean it, touch her again and you’re dead.”

I pulled back and he stood quickly, stumbling and gasping as he spluttered “Cosima, why on earth…?!” before he cut himself off at the mutinous expression on my face. I pointed the knife at him and muttered “Tomorrow.”

His eyes widened as he massaged his neck and nodded quickly, and with that I turned on my heel and stormed back to the house.

Delphine had no idea that I had threatened him, but I did notice her relieved expression that night as Monsieur made excuse after excuse to avoid her company. I do believe he did not even venture in the bedroom that night but rather spent the night at the kitchen table. It was not much, but at least she had one night of peace.

 

***********

 

 

The next morning Monsieur surprised Delphine, telling her that he had a “friend” who Monsieur presented as an art dealer from Paris. It was an obvious enough lie but Delphine really did not seem to care. When she met the man she said nothing, not even a greeting before she turned to retire to her bedroom.

There was a stunned silence at her rude departure, and curtsying hastily I took off after her, as a dutiful servant should. Mounting the stairs I heard murmuring from the kitchen where Monsieur, Mrs Piquet and the doctor were talking in whispers. The doctor had not come for her today, he would have to evaluate her, to see if she fit the criteria to be committed to the asylum. Bribe or not, they could not take someone with some feeble excuse, and if she did indeed qualify he would return tomorrow. After seeing the doctor’s startled expression at Delphine’s abrupt exit I did not doubt that her odd behaviour would provide more than sufficient reason.

At length Monsieur mounted the stairs and entered the bedroom and said in a low, stern tone “Now Delphine, I need you to come downstairs, you cannot possibly be so rude to our guest.”

She gazed at him, impassive and unresponsive before he huffed in frustration “Cosima, come with me for a minute would you, we will give Delphine a minute to _compose_ herself.” before tossing her a contemptuous glance and leading me from the room.

Outside the bedroom he drew me to him, “Cosima you need to let us speak alone to the doctor. We must discuss some sensitive matters” he almost quailed at my deadly expression “Cosima, calm yourself… we are almost over with it… but technically she is my… wife, we must speak to him candidly.”

I looked at him levelly, and he flinched from my gaze again. I dare say I had frightened him when I threatened him because this was the most he had had spoken to me since, he had avoided me as much as he could.

I stared at him and watched him squirm before hissing “Fine. I want you to know this, you should have considered yourself lucky to marry her, and I do not understand why you can’t just keep her with you? She is your wife…why resort to this?”

He looked at me, but then shrank from my gaze and he hung his head before responding, surprising me with the heavy blush that crept up to his cheeks. He coughed and then whispered “I must Cosima. There is someone else and I love them more than anything. Circumstances being what they are we cannot be together freely yet. But with this money I can start a new life Cosima, far away and in a place I can live freely. Delphine would never understand, she would have grounds for divorce and I can’t keep her about me, my lover would never tolerate her. I don’t expect you to understand… but this, is my chance to be happy. Delphine is born to misery, but I refuse to be. ”

He no longer looked embarrassed, instead he carried his head high, and flicked his hair lightly from his face. I thought about all he had said and I knew then. There would be no changing his mind I had come to realise something… nothing I could say would ever change anything. I felt powerless… I _was_ powerless. I couldn’t fight anymore. I was in a word…exhausted.

I sighed and muttered lightly “She might understand more than you think Felix.”

Monsieur looked at me a second, and if I didn’t know better it seemed like he actually felt sorry for me, but he ignored my comment and pressed me firmly “Cosima, it’s almost over… and soon you can go home. Now, you know what to say don’t you?”

Of course I knew what to say, it had been drilled over and over again back in La Jonquiere and the Manor.

Hating myself. Hating this. Hating everything, I muttered “Of course.”

 

***********

 

I entered the shabby kitchen, and there the doctor sat waiting for me. Doctor Legrain was a fairly grim looking man, with greying hair, and a pale, washed out looking complexion and dressed sombrely in dark cloak. I entered the room and curtseyed.

On seeing me curtsy I saw him observe me closely and I sighed and thought to myself briefly; all men are the same.

He introduced himself and asked me very respectfully if I would mind him asking me some questions. My heart began to thump painfully hard.

I clenched my fist and shook my head tightly and kept my gaze averted, I could not bear to look at him.

He must have sensed my discomfort because he paused and coughed, “Well… perhaps we could start by you telling me a little about the marriage of Monsieur Delvinquiere and his new lovely wife.”

“Yes, Sir. His wife is my mistress Delphine Cormier.

His bushy eyebrows raised “Your mistress is a Miss Delphine Cormier?” I blushed at my slip and responded awkwardly. “Sorry, indeed it is Madame Delvinquiere now I suppose…I have been her maid for about six months.”

The doctor seemed to deem this important and scribbled something in a small note pad that he had produced from an inside pocket. I looked at him curiously as he scrawled but Monsieur caught my eye and nodded at me to continue.

The doctor suddenly looked up from his pad, his gaze scrutinising and hard and asked abruptly “So you are her maid?”

I gave him and odd look before responding “Yes, sir.”

“And what is your name… Miss?”

I stood perplexed, not understanding the point of these questions but after a beat I answered him “My name is Cosima Fournier, Sir”.

Again his eyes brows raised and he tested my first name in his mouth, drawing it out. “Cosima…what an unusual name, how charming. I believe it is the first I’ve ever such a name actually…”

I do not know what to say to that so I said nothing.

“And that is the name you were given, at birth?” he continued.

I began to lose my patience, “Well obviously, Sir. I think I would remember my own name.”

Then I began to panic, what if he had sensed that this was a shady affair, maybe he knew I was a fake, but then again Monsieur had bribed them… so why should it matter? I began to stress then, for what if this doctor as not as tied up in this as Monsieur had thought? I was well aware that word to the authorities about our dastardly plot and we would be in prison by nightfall, and on trial to be hung within a month. I think I began to sweat under his penetrating gaze and Dr Legrain must have sensed my anxiety because he stopped grilling me quite so hard, but instead he tried a more tactful and conversational approach.

He paused a moment, smiling sympathetically before saying “Now, Mademoiselle… Fournier. You know why we are here, could you please tell us a little about the behaviour or your mistress?”

 

And so I took a deep breath and began to speak.

 

 ***********

 

 

I responded to his questions about Delphine, haltingly and guardedly at first but I then I decided the sooner it was done the sooner it would be over, and so I spilled it all. I told him that I had witnessed several periods of “ inactivity “ at the Manor, how she seemed to not eat or sleep for days at a time. I told him since the wedding she had grown despondent, miserable and melancholic and stopped taking care of herself. I told him that I was afraid for her. The doctor wrote it all down.

Dr Legrain observed me for a moment, before saying “You seem to be quite close to your Mistress.” I coloured at this, and deigned not to respond.

After waiting a moment for a response and receiving none he then asked me seriously, confidingly “Do you think she will come out of this “inactivity” as you call it, by herself?”

I took a deep breath, and though I tried to stop the tears flooded my eyes, I could not suppress them, they fell freely and fast and I choked on the words as they left me.

“I do not think so sir, I have never seen her like this.”

As the tears turned into soft sobs Monsieur grew anxious, he moved to me and placed a tentative hand to my shoulder, a hand that I shrugged off in an instant and he said to the doctor “Perhaps that is enough?”

The doctor nodded quickly, he harrumphed and took my hand, patting it idiotically before saying. “You are a good maid. Worry not, we will take your mistress to a place that will make her better.”

I stared at him desperately, my gaze locked to his as Monsieur tried to lead me from the kitchen, suddenly blurting far too loudly “Don’t hurt her!!! “

The doctor looked startled a moment at my outburst before he nodded quickly and bowed to me muttering “Of course not my dear! Of course not.”

And I was bustled from the room. On my way out I heard the doctor murmur “I would like to meet...” but Monsieur just steered me on, his firm grip on my arms and said “ Yes, of course, Sir. She shall be down directly”. Once in the ragged hallway Monsieur said firmly “Go for a walk Cosima, and clear your head.” and then he left me standing there, with endless tears falling from my eyes.

 

***********

 

 I went for a walk and when I had returned the doctor had gone, he had not stayed long with Delphine but I suppose my testimony and her own odd behaviour spoke for itself. Monsieur muttered to me quickly that the doctor had agreed to take her, and would be returning to collect her on the morrow. Delphine would be told that we would be making or way to the train station with his Parisian “friend” and despite the fact it seemed to be a paltry ruse, given the state she was in she did not question the absurdity of it.

I went to her that evening and she looked more downcast than ever, Monsieur had not touched her since I had threatened him, I was sure, but she still seemed haunted by some invisible force.

As I packed her things that night I tried to stay cold, to find solace in my new friend; anger, but despite myself I found I needed to hold her again, just once more… so as she stood stoically by the window I went to her and I pulled her to me for a tight hug. It was not romantic, it was not meant to incite the passions, it was just meant to say goodbye. It was meant to say I’m sorry. Delphine did not relax into the embrace, but stayed stiff in my arms, nonetheless I held her for a long moment and then released her and resumed packing our things for the journey tomorrow. Delphine resumed her staring, and I resumed my silent fury. It was as if everything was back to its new state of normalcy.

When I eventually went to bed I tossed and turned all night. The dread of the next day lay heavy in my bones, and I rose the next morning to find Delphine in a similar exhausted state. We did not eat, we sat by the bags mutely waiting for Monsieur to call us.

Delphine still wore her plain dark dress, and I dressed in the dark green one that she liked so much. She insisted I wear it, saying it lifted her spirits when I did. I felt like I was being strangled by the high neck of the gown, though I know now it was most likely the fear that was doing the strangling.

I thought back to Mrs S. I would be seeing her tomorrow, and I could scarcely believe it, my life at La Jonquiere seemed so distant and forgotten to me now. I seemed forgotten to myself. I am not sure if I was even happy to go back, of course I missed Mrs S, I longed to see her but I was so far removed from the person I once was, and I wondered if she would recognise me.

I had packed a bag for Delphine to take with her to the asylum. In it was a hair brush, her Charles Darwin’s Origin of the Species, her underthings and several nice dresses along with her pipe and Herbe. Everything else I supposed would return with me to La Jonquiere though I did not relish it in the slightest. The only thing I cared about having was that torn page, which I kept in the bodice of my gown.

 

Then Monsieur called us, the carriage had arrived with Dr. Legrain sitting in it.

 

We descended the creaky staircase and Delphine moved to take my arm, it was the first time she had willingly touched me since her wedding night and I couldn’t help but turn to look at her. She looked grim, as if she was in mourning in her dark dress, and she would not return my gaze but still held me tight until we reached the carriage. We loaded into the back in silence and Mrs Piquet watched us wordlessly pull away from the cottage.

It was a tight squeeze in the carriage with the four of us and I felt Delphine’s body against mine as the door closed behind us, before we heard an audible locking sound. I was surprised and discomfited at being locked in but Delphine, as always these days seemed disinterested in the suspect sound.

I think Monsieur caught me eyeing at her because cleared his throat and said “Now. Let’s not get emotional about leaving shall we?”

Delphine spoke then, and her voice low and expressionless “How long will this take?”

Monsieur answered “The journey? Not long at all, perhaps a half an hour”

The journey felt much longer and the silence was oppressive, the only sound of prominence being the creaking of the carriage. Delphine sat beside me, rigid as a board, her whole body taut though I was scarcely more relaxed myself. I could feel Monsieur’s eyes boring into me, willing me to keep my nerve. I refused to look at him.

Finally, after what seemed like hours Dr. Legrain spoke “I should say we will be there very soon.”

Delphine glanced at him then before turning to look out the window. I followed her gaze and saw we were in a large grounds not unlike those of the Manor but these were surrounded by an unusually high wall. Ahead of us was a huge sombre looking house, which had nothing…not even weeds growing about it, there were bars on the windows and gates on the doors.

It was obvious we were not approaching a train station and I squinted across to Delphine, expecting a reaction… but when she saw the house, there was nothing. Delphine just sighed deeply, sadly before turning back around and lifting her head, she held her chin high and took a deep breath. I think I saw the beginning of a dread and understanding creep across her blank features and my body tensed expecting a reaction, but she just continued to stare blankly ahead of her in silence.

Then it hit me. I gasped aloud and the three of them started and looked towards me in alarm. Monsieur tensed, but I held up a hand, a silent promise of composure and I tried to calm my mind; I realised that she knew. Delphine knew what Monsieur meant to do with her, and she wasn’t even going to fight it.

Monsieur relaxed only slightly and then said quietly, as if to himself “Everything is going to be alright. Don’t be frightened.”

I swallowed and for once tried to heed his words.

The carriage pulled up beside the house and waiting at its door were what I assumed to be more doctors and several large broad women dressed in white dresses and aprons.

The door unlocked and Dr Legrain stepped forward out of the carriage and Monsieur shifted over slightly. I felt Delphine grow stiffer beside me and I saw Monsieur brace himself, tension evident in his frame.

Dr Legrain greeted a companion who made his way to the carriage and bowed to us all and saying “Bonjour, Monsieur Delvinquiere, Madame Delvinquiere and Mademoiselle Fournier, you are all very welcome to Maison des Eaux.”

Straightening up and smiling kindly he extended his pale hand to inside the carriage.

He extended it to me.

I looked at the appendage and back up to his sympathetic face, he tried again moving slightly closer “Madame Delviniquiere, will you come with me please?”

I blinked at him, baffled when I felt a hard grip on my arm. I spun quickly to see that Monsieur had sprung up to grasp me, and at first I thought he simply wished to push me out of the way to get to Delphine but after a second I realised… he was pushing me out, out and into the clutches of Dr Legrain and this other doctor.

I looked at him in shock, still trying to make sense of what was going on, desperately trying to resist the push and pull of the two men.

 

“What is going on? Monsieur? What are you doing-?

And then he said it. He leaned close, and caressed my hair before murmuring “Be calm my sweet-“and I suddenly realised what was happening. A desperate fear overcame me and I pulled back to look Monsieur in the eye. I saw the fear yet triumph in them and then, my body acting of its own accord I pulled back my head sharply and head-butted him squarely in the face.

 

After that all hell broke loose, I had begun to scream loudly, shrilly and my glasses had cut into my nose from the head-butt, before falling and becoming caught and tangled in my hair. Monsieur’s nose was bleeding profusely and he cursed, trying to stop the flow while still holding me tight. I was screaming and twisting like a banshee, biting and kicking at anything I could reach. I saw Dr Legrain gesture to the women standing by the door and in seconds I was overcome.

 

I was terrified, I was furious and above all I was desperately waiting for someone to release me, for them to rectify their mistake.

 

I screeched “It’s not me!!! It’s not me! I’m Cosima! Cosima Niehaus!! Cosima Fournier! I’m not his wife! I’m not his anything!!! ! Get your hands off me!!! Im not the one you want! MONSIEUR TELL THEM!”

I’m sure I sounded raving mad and looked it too as my body twisted and undulated in the firm hands that held me fast though I still clung to the side of the carriage, my fingers holding fast in a vice grip.

 

Monsieur looked at me and spat blood from his mouth before feigning a sob “Oh my poor wife! How can you not know your own husband?” He turned away as if overcome though I am sure I saw a cold glare in his eyes as he touched his surely broken nose. Then I felt another woman’s sturdy hands clamp about me, hauling me from the carriage, cutting my fingers as she pulled me roughly away

 

I screamed noise at him, words failing me and then my eyes feel to the back of the carriage, where Delphine sat, ridged, and silent not looking at me struggle even as the women tried to draw me back. I thrashed against them and tried to comprehend what she was doing, sitting there, like nothing was happening. I began to form a thought, a thought that terrified me more than anything else had don up until this point. As my mind whirled I studied her hard, fighting to keep her in my line of sight. Delphine sat at the back of the carriage in semi darkness, her hair was frazzled and tied back simply, and her dress was plain and worn, little more formal than a dress of a servant. Finally as if she could sense all the pieces clicking together in my mind she met my gaze and her eyes glittered in the semi-darkness… but not with tears. Her eyes were no longer unfocused, no longer empty. Delphine’s gaze was hard, as hard as diamonds, it was alive and it was unyielding.

 

Looking into those amber orbs I realised for certain, the final piece of the puzzle had clicked into place and I stared at her implacably, chest heaving and hair wild and for the first time since being captured I fell silent. Delphine stared back at me, she remained cold, emotionless yet I believe I saw a distinct flash of hurt cross her impassive visage and I knew then that I had been a fool, and that I had let her take me for one too. We remained with our eyes locked for what seemed like an eternity, and understanding flashed and crackled between us like electricity but I was shook from my thoughts as Dr. Legrain gripped my shoulder helping the nurses pull me away saying “That is enough of that. I dare say you should say goodbye to your maid, Madame Delvinquiere… she has taken very good care of you. Hopefully you will see her again soon when you are feeling better.”

 

My maid.

Delphine looked at me her gaze level and her voice taking on a false, emotional timbre and she spoke in an accent so very different to her own “Goodbye, Mistress.”

I had thought her to be a mark, my mark.

I reeled for a second, just a second. I then think I tried to jump forward, into the carriage, to her. I began to scream again.

Delphine knew. She had been in on it the whole time… and she had known all along what I had meant to do and she had done it to me. This whole time she had played me like a fiddle, she had drawn me in, she played my misplaced feelings…she had _used_ me, and I let her. How could I have been so stupid, how could I have let myself love her, how could I have really thought she loved me?! This whole time everything had been a lie, _everything._ I felt my heart fail me.

 

That bitch.

 

There was only one thought that passed through my mind in the minutes that followed.

 

I was going to kill her.


	9. Those Who Adapt, Survive.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part Two. After double crossing Cosima, we shift to Delphine's perspective. We revisit her childhood to find out more about her and the events that lead to her to do what she did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello dear friends that are still reading! So, there is a change... we have now entered part two which will be told from Delphine's perspective.  
> I have an affinity of sorts for Delphine so I will say I enjoyed writing this chapter so so much:D
> 
> As always a huge shout out to my trusty Beta Mad_Scientist_88 who stops this fic from transcending into nonsensical nonsense, Argot ( and I) would be lost without her :D *Sends her an extra large bottle of Black Bush whiskey in thanks*
> 
> As always feel free to comment away with your thoughts, questions and criticisms!
> 
> And if tumblr is more your thing https://www.tumblr.com/blog/yetanothereireannach

 

** Chapter 9:  
**

 

 

Despite what you now know about me now, what I did to Cosima is but one of the terrible things I have done over the span of my nine-teen years. The first, and likely the worst thing was of course me being born at all… but perhaps I should go back further still? You see even my conception was a mistake, for I am the product of a tragic and illicit affair between my father, a Gentleman Pierre Cormier and my mother, a Lady Adeline Leekie. Their union was a short and disastrous one and would inevitably be doomed. My mother found herself pregnant by wedlock and adultery and as a result was sectioned to an asylum by her brother, my uncle. This was not at all uncommon, it is after all a common practice for those with the means to dispose of tarnishes to the family name in such a way, leaving the family name intact, and the burden to it out of sight.

I was born in la Maison des Eaux, and the birth was apparently a long and hard one, and I have been told I was lucky to survive because I had been born breach. I do not believe the term lucky is quite appropriate given my life but that is what they say. My mother on the other hand was not so fortunate, my arduous birth caused her to bleed to death on the table, and with her last breath I drew my first.

Due to the conditions of my conception and the circumstances of my birth I was technically a bastard, and an orphaned bastard at that. It seemed I would be bound for the workhouse but the day after my mother’s death my father, having no children of his own with his wife of 10 years, decided to legitimise me. I doubt he did this at all for my own sake, but rather for the sake of the perpetuity of his family name. I believe he thought his wife to be barren and so he brought me home much to his wife’s displeasure. Monsieur Pierre Cormier claimed me as his heir, and named me; Delphine Cormier.

As fate would have it, two weeks after being naturalised my father also fell victim to an untimely demise. He choked on a piece of meat and I, at scarcely two weeks old had lost another parent. His death had left me with three quarters of his estate and more money than I would ever need, but also incidentally homeless, for his wife; resentful of having lost most of what she deemed to be hers to an illegitimate child, was certainly not going to raise this bastard as well.

And so she brought me to the Manor, to my only living relative, my Uncle. He took one look at the squalling infant in her arms and told her to take it back. She refused and my uncle had no option for I was no longer nameless, titleless, or estateless. It would have been easier had I stayed the nameless bastard that I was born, and then he could have claimed indifference but now he could not. He could no longer justify sending me to a workhouse but my uncle wouldn’t abide keeping me in his own home, and so an idea struck him. My Uncle set out that afternoon and by that night I was back where to where I had torn my way into the world, at Maison Des Eaux. This is where I would spend the first nine years of my life, years which were incidentally the only happy years of my life.

 

*************

 

 

It seems odd to others that I should have grown up in a mental institution, but it was not strange to me. The madhouse was my kingdom, the halls my rivers and valleys, and my little cell my palace. The sounds of the shrieking women were my lullabies, and the nurses my surrogate mothers. I knew myself to be an orphan in theory however I never truly understood the concept. Parents were never something I missed as I had seven mothers, the nurses on the wards, and I had endless aunties, those being the women. It seems to me now that I was kept as a kind of pet, as some sort of mascot of the hospital, but I was happy then.

As soon as I am old enough to hold a pencil I am assigned lessons four hours a day. I learn to read, to write, good penmanship and calligraphy. I rewrite texts again and again until a flowing hand comes to me as naturally as breathing. These are the only strict routines to my day I do not think much about my future, though I know more remains outside the walls but I don’t overly trouble myself with it. The asylum is my home, the only one I have known and in it I learn the importance of discipline and order. I am left to my own devices most of the time but I witness what becomes of the women if they step out of line. I do not fear it for I know my place.

I am told I am a beautiful child, and I take it as just another reality of my life. I never think to question what they tell me, and because I have never met another child, I have no one to compare myself to. I am deemed unusual due to my colouring and I am particularly complimented for my hair…it is blonde, and I know this to be rare enough, for there are very few fair women on the wards with colouring similar to my own. My hair is curly, very curly and it is the pleasure of the nurses and women to care for it and dress it day after day. It has never been cut, and cascades down my back in tight curls, touching beyond my lower back. I have bright eyes and a quick wit. I have a nice smile, or so I have been told, I have lovely teeth and this I do notice, for in the dark madhouse many women are lucky to keep most of their teeth at all, and if they do they are often damaged or brown. I have dimples when I smile and pale skin that is scattered with occasional freckles. I can go outside, but I am not permitted to venture past the gates, not that I would ever bother, as far as I am concerned, there is nothing for me out there.

 

Knowing only the asylum as my world, I take all said to me to be truth. I will not learn to lie for quite some time yet. In many ways I was a fearless child, but then again, as I have seen in my naturalist readings; take any animal in its natural environment, an animal that has never before interacted with mankind, and it will not know to be afraid. It will not know that it is the prey, that it is the sitting duck. I am fearless simply because I have nothing to fear, the various insanities and malaises of the women I take to be just another fact of life, and for me madness is nothing in itself to be afraid of. I will learn fear later.

 

I develop an interest early on in the processes of the Doctors, they are kind and they humour me as I plague them with question after question as I trail along after them. I watch them examine the women and take notes on their behaviours and states. I begin to mimic them, copying my own little notes into a battered little notebook, and the doctors chuckle along good humouredly. I imagine now that I must have reminded them of an odd sort of stray puppy that follows them loyally around the wards, begging for treats. As I observe them conduct their examinations, I begin to interest myself in posing questions and searching for results.

 

One of the women, a particular favourite of mine is called Madame Boulet and had been committed by her brother after having a stroke. She is about fifty-five, and though mentally sound she has difficulties speaking when tired and her left side is almost completely immobile. We are fond of each other, she is gentle and patient, and I lively and engaging. Madame Boulet came from a wealthy family, her father was a scientist and so is her brother. Madame Boulet grumbled often about the injustices of life, one of the harshest she felt was not to have been committed here but rather having being born a girl. What irked her the most for her brother was a fool and a plagiarist, yet he was able to pursue what he liked while she on the other hand was ignored, discouraged and her capacities and scientific understanding were cast aside.

It had frustrated her father endlessly during her youth that she would comprehend the fundamental elements of her father’s field of study in an instant yet her brother would bumble about, skewing results, setting back projects months at a time. Yet her father solidly refused her requests to assist him time and time again. Her brother hated her, and she resented him. To Madame Boulet it seemed an outrage that she being a woman she was deemed unfit for anything but marriage… though she never did marry. Spinster she was, but stupid she wasn’t, she had picked up plenty over the years from her father, even though she had to fight for every grain of knowledge she gained. She had a particular interest in biology and she passed it on to me, along with the willingness to fight for it. We would spend at least an hour a day together while she sat and told me all she knew, slurring her words, sometimes dribbling just a little which I would then gently wipe away with a cloth. If I have ever loved anyone, I loved her.

 

***********

 

 

It is sometime after my ninth birthday when I am summoned to the director’s office. I have had little contact with him in my life, seeing much more often the Doctors on the wards. The Director is a stern man, and though I do not fear him, the women do…and this makes me wary. He is called Monsieur Charles, and as I enter is office I find he is not alone, sitting across from the desk is another man. I do not see his face, his back is turned to me. I walk in and say nothing, Mr Charles comes and places his hand to my shoulder, and I twitch in response; I do not believe he has ever touched me before. He speaks to the man in the chair, who still has not turned to face us, he clears his throat and says, somewhat nervously “Well, this is the girl Monsieur Leekie.”

The man stands slowly and turns, he wears a black suit, I believe him to be a funeral worker. Most of the men I have encountered wear white coats, the only others I have seen dressed such are the darkly dressed men that come for the bodies of those who die at the asylum.

I study him openly, unguardedly… I have nothing to fear from him. I will learn to fear him later. He turns and I see he is tall, he is bald and has a skeletal face, thin lips and pale grey eyes, as pale and translucent as dirty ice. He studies me intensely, and I see him glance to Mr Charles.

I see the pale man stare at me and I stare back, for why shouldn’t I? Abruptly he asks me “Well Girl how old are you?

I regard him coldly and answer stoutly “Nine.”

His thin lips tighten in displeasure at my response, he seems to be waiting for something… though I do not know what, and then he glares at me and says slowly… deliberately “Nine _Sir_.”

I say nothing and continue to glower at him, why should I call him Sir? He is not the Director, he is not a doctor… he is nothing to me. I am caught off guard as his heavy hand lifts in a flash and slaps me hard, so hard, and fast across my cheek. I feel tears sting my eyes and I taste the slight taste of blood in my mouth.

I manage to suppress my tears and he regards me coldly while speaking “you shall address me as Sir, girl. Do you understand me?”

 

I refuse to be cowed and I remain silent until he raises his hand again, and I feel the director grab my shoulder and squeeze, so I begrudgingly respond. “Yes…” and seeing his glower I reluctantly add “… _Sir.”_

The older man, I still do not know his name, studies me harder and I dare to lift a hand to my blazing cheek, touching my lip to find blood upon it. I have been hit before of course, but this…I had not been expecting it.

 

The man begins to circle me slowly, like an animal marking it’s prey. I try not to shudder or flinch under his regard while he studies me, muttering “She bears no likeness to her mother…” but I cannot help but let out a startled yelp as he moves closer and seizes me by the shoulders. I can smell his stale breath and I wrinkle my nose in displeasure.

He looks hard at Monsieur Charles and asks him abruptly “Are you sure this is the child?”

 

Monsieur Charles looks offended for the briefest of seconds, before thinking better of it and mutters his response, trying to restrain his scowl “But of course Sir, she is the only child here! She has been the only child housed in the hospital since her arrival, or ever for that matter. Isn’t that right Delphine?”

I nod resolutely. The pale man continues examine me with great urgency, turning me to the side, pulling my hair… and grumbles “her colouring is unusually fair, she must take after her father. Her hair is far to long and wild, I shall want it cut.” My heart beats hard as he suddenly grabs my chin and dazes hard into my eyes, his eyes narrowed, searching for something… and then he sees it. “Hmmm, yes, Hazel eyes… Light hazel. I see it now. Adeline had the same. Indeed.”

 

He releases me suddenly and I stumble a little, caught off balance, he stands and looks at the Director. “Can she read?”

The Director nods in response “Yes Sir, we have done all you have instructed, she can read and write, and she has a fair hand.”

 

The pale man returns his attention to me and regards me coldly, indifferently before saying the words that will change my life forever “Very well Mr Charles. I shall send my house keeper for her on the morrow.” He then throws the Director a small bag and I hear a metallic thud as it lands in the directors hands.

I feel my heart hammering, my palms begin to sweat, I fear he shall strike me again but I cannot help myself from blurting too loud in the quiet office “Send for me?! Sir?” I add quickly.

 

The pale man smiles slightly, but it is empty, it is cold… it leers dangerously. “Hmmmm I am pleased to see you learn quickly. Yes… I suppose you do not know, but I am your uncle, your mother was my younger sister. I have been paying for your keep here since your infancy, and now you are finally old enough to be permitted into my household. I shall be sending my housekeeper to come for you tomorrow, and she shall take you back to my Manor.”

Leaving me speechless and frightened he turns and takes his coat, shouldering it on before turning to the Director saying “Have her ready first thing.” The director clutches the bag and smiles showing him to the door while saying “Yes Sir.”

 

I do not move a muscle, I stay rooted to the spot. The words come out of their own volition, but I do not regret them, I decide I will take a thousand slaps if needs be.

“I won’t go.”

From the doorway he turns to me and I see a heavy smirk on his face, I grimace, and I feel myself begin to tremble as he asks me, his tone amused, taunting “ You won’t go?”

 

I stand my ground and respond “No… Sir. I will not.”

 

The smile slides from his face and he approaches me quickly, I flinch but nothing comes. Instead he bends down painfully slowly, his stale breath once again encroaching on my clean breathing space. “You should understand something now child. You _will_ be coming to me on the morrow, and here is why… you are my niece, you are an orphan, a bastard and I am the only family you have. You will come because I bid it. You have no choice in the matter, _girl_. I shall give you one swift word of advice because you do not yet know me, and perhaps things shall be easier for it…you shall leave that attitude here when you come to me because one thing you shall swiftly learn at the manor is manners and your place. And for teaching you that I shall use a whip.”

The threat of the whip does not frighten me, but the man who threatens to yield it does, and so I hold my tongue. He sees I shall not respond and once again takes his leave, speaking again to the Director, “I should have hoped for her to be better trained than this.”

 

I am then subjected to a cuff and a cold glare from the potbellied Director who responds, following the pale man out, leaving me alone in his office “I do not know what has gotten into her, Sir.”

 

************

 

That night I ran to Madame Boulet and I wept and clung to her begging her not to let him take me while the nurses sadly packed up my few meagre things. Madame Boulet held me tight and mumbled soothing words, rubbing me gently with her right hand and then sends me to her room to retrieve a box. I go to her room and bring it to her, tears still falling fast and thick and she takes the box from me, opens it with difficulty and urges me to take a battered pile of loose pages from the box. I remove them and she tells me to take them with me when I go, she tells me that she wants me to have them, and that she hopes it will remind me of our time together. I clutched the lose pages to me sobbing as she again bundles me into her lap. I keep her gift as if it is a treasure despite the fact I will not be able to read it for quite some time. What Madame Boulet had given me was a hand written copy of British scientist, Sir Francis Galton’s _The History of Twins,_ it is in English and will later be a starting point of a passion of mine.

 

The next morning at 8 o'clock exactly, a dour sour faced middle-aged woman introduces herself to me, her name is Mrs Jacquard. My few possessions have been packed in a trunk; I have some plain dresses, stout shoes and my few homemade dolls I had been given by the patients. I keep Madame Boulet’s gift wrapped in a cloth that I have tucked into one of my scruffy leather cases.

Mrs Jacquard had no patience for me or for my tantrums; at first I was most unwilling to change from my soft worn comfortable gown to the stiff shiny one she held before me. She refused my protest and forced me out of my dress and into the new one, tying the laces frighteningly tight, pinching me as I wriggled muttering the words “little bastard” under her breath. I hated her in an instant.

 

After the ordeal with the dress she sits me down on my little bed and pulls at my hair with a brush. The witch hurts me, she does not go gently like the women or nurses do but pulls at it in short, impatient strokes that tears the hair from the root. Finally having enough after one particularly painful tug I slap her away from me and she holds me tighter, cursing me and shaking me slightly as she held me with one hand and reaches to her bag with another.

Then she produces a pair shears. I have learned from the women of the asylum to fear shears…in the madhouse the women’s heads are shorn short to discourage lice and such. My hair had never been cut and I believe for hair to be cut is a terrible thing. I panic at the sight and I stand quickly from the chair and shove her hard away from me. Mrs Jacquard, red –faced and huffing lost all patience, she slaps me hard and then grasps a handful of curls at my crown and forces me into the chair, causing me to cry out in agony.

Still with one hand holding my hair fast at the root she begins to cut and cut. I watched the long tendrils float down to the dirty floor and for the first time in my life I felt like something so trivial mattered. When she was done my hair reaches just beyond my jaw and irritates me, tickling my neck.

I am then forced into hard leather shoes, marched out of the asylum as the nurses look on in despair, powerless and I am not permitted to say farewell. I thought of Madame Boulet, and had I been the type of child to cry I would have but I knew well enough from observing the women of the madhouse that tears are futile. So I blink back the burning drops and watch as the asylum becomes smaller and smaller as the carriage trundles up the entryway. I do not speak, and I sit in silence for the rest of the journey, only looking out the window as we pull out of the madhouse gates onto the forest enclosed road ahead, and it seemed to me then that the road went on forever.

 

**********

 

After what feels like a lifetime we arrive into another walled estate, and though the walls are not as high as at home, I feel myself begin to relax slightly seeing them. I stare up at the grey façade, it is the first house I have ever seen other than the asylum and though arguably less forbidding without its bars and metal doors, I instantly dislike it. The carriage door opens and I come face to face with several people, and I am scared. I step slowly form the carriage and hear muffled comments as I pass, “Isn’t she a beauty?” “Well, isn’t she tall?” and I glower back at them all in silence. As I pass the staff bow to me and greet me “Welcome to the Manor, Mademoiselle Cormier.” and I feel my temper flare in response, for I believe they are making fun of me. I have yet to learn that I am a Lady, I have yet to learn what a Lady is.

 

We enter the dark house and the first thing I notice, the first thing that petrifies me is not the gloom but the silence. The house is devoid of any noise and is so still one could hear a pin drop. Mrs Jacquard ushers me along impatiently, but I do not like her and I resist her tugging, I shriek suddenly into the silence and she drops my arm in fright before she lands a heavy thump on my back. I gasp at the blow and she hisses at me “Try that again and you shall have another.” She doesn’t speak to me again but pulls me through the darkened house, up staircase and through corridor after corridor until I feel I shall never find my way out. She takes me to a parlour with an adjoining chamber, which is large and cold and tells me “this is to be your room. It was your mothers. You shall spend your time here when not with your Uncle.”

 

Then she moves to me to change my dress again and I am baffled, for I have just donned it less than an hour ago. I pull away and again she hisses “You little beast! Your uncle made a mistake bringing a child like you out of a place like that. Struggle all you want, you shall only get yourself hurt in the process. And rest assured I’ll be telling your uncle about your difficulties. Your mother was a handful, but you, you’ll be more trouble than you’re worth, mark my words.”

The mention of the pale man, my uncle, was enough to cow me and I let her hold me then and begin to undress me, but I had grown up in a madhouse, and I was a clever little child, I had observed all the different forms of struggle. I knew well how to resist while feigning compliance, while seeming to stand still and co-operate. In the end, she got me dressed, but it had cost her a good half an hour and I smirked as she stood over me red faced and sweating with effort… it was a small victory but one I sorely needed.

Mrs Jacquard noted my smirk and glowered, but had not the time to punish me, instead she mumbles “He will never make a Lady out of this brat.” before cuffing me and saying “Come now child…we must go to your uncle, and you have made us very late.”

My heart stutters at the thought of meeting the pale man again, and I follow her meekly as she leads me down through the house, to stop and stand before a cellar door, where we wait as she tugs at a tassel. At length the pale man comes to the door and registers me scowling slightly as Mrs Jacquard chest heaves, puce faced beside me and he asks her “Has she been any trouble Mrs Jacquard?”

I expect her to say more but perhaps she doesn’t need to, her face says it all “She has made herself quite the handful, Sir.”

I feel my blood run cold as he returns his regard to me, looking at me coldly before saying “Leave her with me.” Mrs Jacquard curtsies and takes her leave, but not before casting me a smirk on her way out.

I follow the pale man, I shall not come to think of him as my uncle for some time yet, through the doors in trepidation and I am led into a huge and dark room lit by several gas lamps. On the far side of the room, far from the books and what is obviously his desk, there is a small table and chair. He leads me to it.

Standing beside it he turns to look at me “Did you notice the path we followed to come here? We stayed by the wall and followed it to your table.” I nod silently and he continues, “That is how you shall make your way here and back every day.” He steps a few feet to his right and points to the floor and my eyes follow his finger “You are under no circumstances to step beyond this point.” His pointed wrinkled finger is directed to the long red semi-circle drawn across the floor, dividing the room in two. I glance up at him and he bends down to my eye level, his glare forbidding “Step beyond here and I will beat you blue, you shall not be able to move for over a week…do you understand?”

 

I look up at him with wide eyes and swallow, for I am convinced he means every word he speaks. I manage to form words with some difficulty for he clearly awaits a response “Yes, Sir.”

 

He straightens back up but his gaze doesn’t soften, if anything it becomes sharper “Very well. I hear you have misbehaved.”

My body freezes and I say nothing.

He doesn’t seem to expect me to speak and turning from me he walks quickly to his desk, taking something from it before making his way back to me. I cannot see what he holds and I begin to tremble. He says, “Bend over your desk.”

I do not.

Not that it matters, though perhaps it would have been over faster if I had complied. Suddenly his hand rises astonishingly fast, and then I see it, the cane. He moves so fast I do not have time to flinch, he hits me full force across my side, catching my ribs. He hits me again with it and I double over, I receive another and another until I am a heaving crying mess, cowering on my knees in the middle of the floor.

 

That man, my uncle, leans down to me and says, “Now…Delphine, is it? I take no pleasure in beating you, but beat you I will as much as you misbehave. Let me tell you why you are here, I need an assistant of sorts. My calling is uncommon and though you are not ready yet, one day you shall help me with the compiling of my life’s work. You are not here for the sake of family, but for the sake of service, you owe me a debt and you shall repay it.”

 

I understand nothing…I say nothing. The only thing I can focus on is trying to breathe, trying not to faint as the pain, _so much pain,_ overtakes me.

Monsieur Leekie stands and then says, “You are dismissed.” He is right. I do learn quickly and despite the fact I can barely breathe I lift myself as best I can from the floor, half stumbling, half crawling from the room as I follow the path he had shown me and dare not step a foot outside it. I retire to my rooms in shock; it is the first true beating I have ever received. And it shall not be my last.

 

 

**********

 

That night I am made ready for bed by a younger girl, one of the general maids and she is altogether kinder as she washes me. She takes care of not pushing too hard on my livid bruises. She takes her leave and I sit in my nightgown waiting patiently until Mrs Jacquard comes and then I swallow my pride and I ask her, as politely as I can “I would like to be brought back home now, please.”

The old woman looks at me with a snide smirk before responding mockingly “Home you say? You mean that terrible madhouse? That is no home. I dare say it is no wonder you are such a wild child, growing up in such a place but this is your home now girl. You’d do well to accept that.”

I feel tears threaten and I cannot keep the tremble from my voice as I scarcely whisper, “I miss the nurses…I miss Madame Boulet.”

A tear escapes and trickles down my face.

If she sees my tears she ignores them, responding scathingly “Miss them? The people at the madhouse?! Do you think they care about you at all?! Not at all, girl…they were paid for your keeping and god knows it must have been scarcely enough for the keeping of a frightful little monster like you. Now get into bed.”

Her words hurt me more than I care to admit and truly hating her I refuse and she pinches me. She pinches me hard, on the side, where I had suffered a heavy blow but hours before, the pain is overwhelming and it causes me to completely lose my temper, I hurl myself at her and bite her hard enough to draw blood. She shrieks in pain and reels back before grabbing me by the waist and hauling me to bed, I kick, I scream, I bellow but it makes no difference, she doesn’t try to hurt me again…she just hisses, her face a mask of frustration and wounded “You listen now….why some women spawn little devils like you and others, _good_ women cannot have a children at all, will never make sense to me. I look at you…you nasty little violent thing who never should have been born in the first place. A little bastard you are and I feel nothing for your tears, do you understand me? Cry as much as you like but know this, your weeping will never find a soft heart here. Never.”

Her words don’t make sense to me yet, but they will in time. She wheels from the room, taking the candle, leaving me sitting on the mussed bed in darkness. The thickness of the gloom envelops me, it terrifies me. Worse than the blackness however is the crippling silence. I am used to falling asleep to the symphony of moans and shrieks and sobs of a madhouse. I have never slept in silence, and it unnerves me. The quiet to me seems like death, at least with noise, shrieks or not, it is a sign of the living….the stillness is strange, dark and forbidding.

I lie alone, tears leaking from my eyes as I beg to be anywhere else but here, becoming more and more frightened in the noir. For the first time since my arrival, I begin to sob for sadness sake, my body heaves in wracking sobs until I hear the door open and a candle approaches. I seeing the light and I try to flee, and tumble from the bed, expecting to come face to face with a livid Mrs Jacquard but it is not her that comes but it is the nice girl who had washed me earlier. She does not seem angry, and her hand is not raised to strike me. She is young and pretty, and she hushes me softly as she he pushes back my curls and helps me back into the bed…she tells me her name is Caroline and she listens to me babble about the darkness, about the stillness. She smiles at me, a kind smile and tells me she shall leave a light. This calms me, I stop my sobbing, she takes her leave and I immediately feel her absence, but she leaves me the candle. And I sleep.

 

 

***********

 

 

You may wonder why I choose to tell you the story of my childhood, but it quite simple. For you to understand how I came to do be able to do the terrible thing I did, you must know what has first made me to be the terrible person I am.

 

The following days I am beaten often, Mrs Jacquard has little patience for me and I have little fondness for her, the silence and stillness of the house cause me to rage against it. I do all I can to be a nuisance. I refuse to eat, dashing my food to the floor, I destroy dresses, I scream and shriek, I throw tantrums and fits, and I throw anything I can reach.

 

Each punishment I face is harsher than the last, but I relish it. For to my nine-year-old mind, each bruise I bear is a sign of another battle won, a mark of the fact they cannot tame me. The only person whose patience I do not dare test is that of my uncle. I know Mrs Jacquard fears telling him she cannot control me and so she does not tell him often of my behaviour. I use this to my advantage until one day, the last day...I do something unforgivable.

I set a fire. I set it strategically, methodically. I take a musty old throw pillow and bring it to the grate; I hold it to the fire until the flame catches solidly on the corner. I then set it in the middle of the rug where I have compiled a small pile of burnable items, pages, and fabrics, anything I could find. I watch it smoulder and catch flame and looking at the small fire begin to burn I feel for the first time since I have arrived: happiness. I intend to die. I intend to kill us all and I wait patiently as the smoke begins to make me lightheaded. By the time someone smells the smoke and Mrs Jacquard comes to my chamber, the fire is large… seeing it she shrieks and her eyes bulge as she stares at me while I sit on the divan, coughing profusely, a joyous smile on my face. My joy is short lived, a shout sounds out, water is brought and I am dragged downstairs by my mass of curls to my uncle.

Mrs Jacquard heaves me down the cellar steps rings the bell hysterically and jiggled her leg as she waits for my uncle to come. The door heaves open a shout on his lips but it dies as he sees the panic stricken expression on Mrs Jacquard’s face and me glowering, my face smudged with smoke. Mrs Jacquard bursts out, not waiting for my uncle to speak “She tried to burn the house down Sir!!! She is mad, you should’ve seen her, sitting there as cool as can be, smiling like a madwoman as she watched the fire, Sir!!! She’ll have us all dead!”

My Uncle raises his eyebrows in surprise, “She set a fire?” Mrs Jacquards puce face became redder, and I remember thinking it looked like her head was going to explode briefly before I was brought back to the conversation “Yes Sir! A large fire! Her room is half destroyed!” My Uncle raised his eyebrows and looked enquiringly down at me, I do not see anger like I expect but instead he seems to be asking himself what to do with me. I stood still, glowering, waiting for the inevitable beating that would follow.

Instead heaving a deep sigh he bends to my eyelevel and says “Delphine…it seems you seem to have a passion for mischief and yet we wait, patiently for your good behaviour. Here there are many a hand to strike you if you wish it so, and much time to do it too. I had hoped it would not be necessary, I have tried patience, yet it seems you remain too wilful. I am skilled at waiting, so rage all you want, it changes nothing, however when you put my house and collection in danger it is another matter. I do not wish to confine you but if you continue to behave in such a way I shall have no choice but to do so until the inevitable should happen. For it is a certainty that you will tire eventually Delphine, you shall submit, and we have all the time in the world for you to do so. As long as it takes…so make it hard on yourself if you wish. It makes no matter, it will change nothing.”

He doesn’t beat me this time and he doesn’t need to. His words are enough, I am intelligent enough to see he speaks the truth, and I, like all creatures had a breaking point. At the mention of confinement I began to shake, for at the asylum it was the worst fate possible, worse than the water treatments, electrotherapies, and beatings were the confinements. The women that went solitary confinement rarely came out, and if they did they changed into shadows of what they had been before. It was not just the idea of confinement that deterred me but I had witnessed first-hand the slow brutality of patience for there is no patience so deep that of the mad. I had seen women count things, endlessly over and over again, I have seen a woman pluck every single hair from her head one by one. I knew he would wait as long as it took…I knew what he said would be true; I would yield sooner or later.

I decided then I would not make it harder than I needed to, I would yield to the ways of the house and accept that the asylum was no longer my home. I become submissive for the most part though Mrs Jacquard and I still do not warm to each other, and after several weeks, my uncle believing me tamed told her to bring me to the cellar to begin my training the next day. It is then I take my place in the cellar at my little desk and begin my instruction in English and bookkeeping.

 

**********

 

 

For several years the work itself if mind numbing and tedious to the extreme. I am kept to the far side of the room, on the exterior of the red semi-circle and I write and re-write page after page of text for my uncle seeks to improve the quality of my hand. I am forced to recite English; the subject of the text was not the lesson, but the pronunciation. I do not understand the text I read from but if I mispronounce a word I receive a slap or a cane and so I apply myself to it. The words are gibberish as of yet but they will come to make sense later, as I begin to learn the language in depth. I learn the knowledge of a bookmaker and his trade. I learned how books are bound and the materials used for such bindings, I learn the different pages, the different prints, and the different fonts.

And so these are the subjects I am schooled in, and I can only assume it is an unusual arrangement. I have never met another girl from another house, but I overhear enough from the maids to know that I am an oddity. After my lessons I am left to my own devices, and I have seldom little to fill my time during the first few years. I become friendly enough with the cook and she slips me things from the kitchen to which I use to conduct experiments or mischiefs. I enjoy plaguing the housekeepers with my little resistances though they are subtle for the most part like setting up booby traps with vinegar and bicarbonate soda. I begin to take an interest in studying the fermentation process of yeast after hearing that the substance is a living creature. I am young but inquisitive, I write all my observations in a little notebook, as I had done with the maladies of the women in the asylum.

 

***********

 

 

For the most part I have abandoned my futile resistance, and things become slightly easier but no less wretched. I learn quickly, and my uncle is pleased, and so I am made rewards; handsome dresses, new shoes, but it matters little to me. I learn that my uncle likes to see me well presented. My gowns are chosen for his fancy, not mine and I acquiesce to this as I now do for everything…later it will become a habit of my own to be well presented, it shall be my armour, but for now in my youth it is just yet another thing I must do for the pleasure of my uncle.

I am forced to eat every evening meal with the man and it is tedious in itself. We seldom talk for he often reads at the table, but I am not permitted to. The food is little to my taste, having not being used to rich foods at the asylum but I know if I do not eat it, I shall eat nothing else. Along with dinner, we are served wine, and it is the only thing I can say I enjoy of my evening.

 

My mother is buried somewhere on the grounds, I never cared to find out where. Her name was Adeline and I have nothing of her but her eyes or so I am told. I saw a photo of her once and indeed I was shocked by our differences, she seemed as pale as I in the photo but her hair was dark. She didn’t smile in the image, so I couldn’t tell if I had her dimples or not… and I never dared to ask. I feel nothing for this “mother of mine” I consider myself cheated, that it is I that should have lived and not her.

 

**********

 

 

Time goes on, and on occasion my Uncle entertains men at the Manor. We eat together in the dining hall and then we retire to the living room where he has me read to them from English texts that I do not yet understand. The men regard me oddly but I am used to it, I have been looked at as such ever since I arrived at the manor. When I finish reading I curtsey and I am greeted with applause.

And such is my life for three years; it consists solely of mind-numbing labour, stolen moments pursuing my passions and the soul-crushing obedience that comes from living with my uncle. All of this changes suddenly one day when I am deemed old enough, the day that I descend to the study to find my desk has been moved within the red semi-circle to stand by my uncles own. I have just turned thirteen, I have grown and am a gangly-limbed creature, my hair has grown beyond my shoulders but my uncle permits it to be no longer, my skin is clear and my voice still high. When I enter the cellar I stop and stare, I stand uncertain at the border of the circle and finally lifting his head impatiently my uncle beckons. The hairs stand up on the back of my neck as for the first time in over three years, I cross the red line.

As I reach his desk my uncle turns in his chair to look at me, he wears an amused look upon his face and I am immediately alarmed as he says “Well Delphine, I think time enough has passed for you to learn the true nature of what I, what _we_ shall be working on. Know this…I am a scholar indeed, but I am the scholar of that that the average man shies from. I am a keeper and curator of the perverse. Look about you, at this library, each and every one of these is something every man would denounce, but every man crave. And this Delphine…” he places his hand on a tall pile of papers at his desk, “is their compilation.”

I have no idea what he is talking about, and I dare not question him lest I anger him, but then he continues as he stands to pace before the shelves behind him “What I am working on is the largest of its kind, it is a catalogue of these forbidden subjects. It will help others, collectors and scholars such as myself and it shall eventually become a corner stone in the craft. I have devoted the greater part of my life to its compilation and now you shall become my assistant. My eyes grow weak, and in time you shall replace me. I choose to do this now, while you are still young because I seek to inoculate you. I have worked long enough with the subject of my texts to become immune to it, and you in turn shall in time become immune to it too. I believe the sooner we start the process the more effective it shall be.”

My uncle stops his pacing in front of the bookcase, I look up at his cadaverous face, and his near translucent skin and I shudder. He examines my expression for a reaction and I give him none, I am still in the dark about what he is telling me about, and I do not wish to be drawn into the light. My silence does not please him…he huffs and draws closer, his voice taking on a sinister edge as he speaks “Before I show you what I will now, know this…discuss the subject of our study outside of this cellar and I shall have you whipped within an inch of your life. It is a delicate subject and in time you shall become as dispassionate and objective as I to the elements we study, but the common folk, they would dub it to be scandalous, you would be maligned…shunned.”

He then proceeds to pull a book from the bookcase and hands it to me. I do not open it, as he has instructed me not to until he has left me. Then he turns and leaves me in the dark cellar and then slowly, hesitantly…I turn the heavy black cover. The book is called _“Losing One’s Self Among The Many_ ” and as I read, I understand at last what it was that I had read so many evenings that garnered so much applause from my uncle’s guests.

 

**********

 

Some call the subject of my uncle’s study Pleasure, others Erotica. My uncle is a collector of it all, a collector of all its sorts and variations. He seeks new works endlessly, ravenously and catalogues them, files them, creates summaries outlining their subject matter or tastes and then he stores them away. I come to believe my uncle’s obsession transcends the matter of study; I come to believe it is not the matter in the books that incites his passion, but rather the calm and patient _ordering_ of the perverse and maligned. I believe he considers himself a sort of explorer, charting the darkest of places, darkest of desires, and this is his true obsession.

When I say his obsession transcends the subject of study I mean that my uncle interests himself little in the content of the book, but rather he comments on the rendering of it, on its binding, on its font style, on the quality of its pages. He will study a book in detail and add its credentials to his ever-expanding index. He will lean to me across my little desk and show me an illustrated copy, commenting on the skill of the execution, the quality of the artwork. He will select a paragraph and text and analyse it for the quality of its writing. At first the erotic content would raise a blush to my cheeks and he would scold me harshly, slapping me hard and fast across the cheek “If you want a colour raised to your cheek I will raise it for you! We have no space for modesty here, girl. Stop your foolishness. This is our work Delphine, nothing more, you must ignore the subject and look beyond that to the form that lies beneath.” I hold my cheek and nod, and apply myself to observing this scrutiny of form that he talks so keenly about.

As I have said I am thirteen when I am introduced to my uncles subject of studies… in many ways I am still a child, but it is my Uncle’s decision to start this early with the learning of his _trade_ for a reason. The reasons are many his eyesight is fading fast, no doubt as a result of squinting at line after line of text in the gloom, he also believes it wisest to introduce me to the subject before I was to reach puberty hoping to quell any sort of reaction on my part to quell any embarrassment or teenage curiosity that could derive from such topics of learning.

 

**********

 

I am young, I am naïve and at first the subject of the books appals me, for I have lived too sheltered a life up until this point. I have been kept like a veal calf, immobile and weak, being raised for solely one purpose, and I rage against it. I wish to refuse such a vocation but I am subject to the will of my uncle. After reading his books, the idea of maturing horrifies me. I am haunted by the knowledge that children should evolve into adults and that adults _devolve_ into something akin to a primitive beast, intent on but one thing in life, a beast that seeks above all the brief and fleeting joining of flesh. It disgusts me, and the fevered look in my uncle’s eyes as he pours over each filthy book just repulses me further.

This is the beginning of my education and I heed my uncle’s words and mention the subject of our study to no one. I believe the words I transcribe and recite will never cease to raise embarrassment from me but eventually my uncle is right, my cheek cools and I become indifferent to our subject of study. I never warm to the topic, and in this I am different from my uncle. In that I learn in time, that he is as lecherous as any man in any of the books, he indulges in many forms of the pleasure we read and the housemaids are forever at his mercy.

I remain scornful of what I read, I never feel this lust that I so often read about and I am grateful. I think to myself…I _hope_ to myself that perhaps I shall remain more than one of these beasts after all.

However during my education at the Manor I learn many things that will prove to be of use to me later, just as I have from the madhouse. Let me clarify, I am not talking about my rudimentary knowledge in the arts of pleasure, for these do not concern me or interest me in the slightest. Instead from the books I learn in a way, the functioning of the world; I learn that women are seen by men as some sort of object to be claimed, that many men may do as they wish given they have status and power, and above all I learn that men seek one thing…and would do almost anything to have it.

In the following months after my introduction to my uncle’s true matter of study I grow ever taller, I begin the inevitable change from a child into a woman and I dread it with every fibre of my being. I begin to fill out, I start to bleed as women do and I grow lovelier by the day, or at least that is what I hear the general maids say. I do not care much for the way I look but I will later…I shall curse it.

 

**********

 

 Over the years I become at ease with the friends and acquaintances of my Uncle, the vendors and collectors of pleasures such as himself. The readings are a regular fixture in my life and I graduate from reading English texts to those of French, and though the words I speak, the scenes I paint in my lyrical voice are nothing to me I am ever aware of their riveted gazes trained on me as I stand, reciting in the middle of the room. I dislike it…for I know, better than most women of the world what it is they are thinking. However, I have no troubles with them generally except one…a Monsieur Duncan. He is a short man, almost a head shorter then myself, he is rotund and red-faced with a bald patch right in the centre of his wispy grey head, which makes him look quite like a monk. He is about sixty years old and a close friend of my uncle. Due to their amiable relationship I must remain respectful but he tests my patience, he breaths too heavily whenever he draws close to me, his hand lingers too long on my own, and when he leans in to kiss me in greeting they are far too moist and insinuating for my comfort. Later, I become aware that Monsieur Duncan will ask my uncle for my hand twice only to be refused. It will be the only thing I will ever be grateful to my uncle for in my life.

You may think me weak, meek and tamed but let me ask you…what alternative did I have? Any time I forget myself, any time I let my tongue slip, and sometimes for no reason at all, I am beaten. If my writing is unsatisfactory, I receive a sharp slap across the cheek, I drop a book and I receive a caning…forget to hold my tongue, I receive a whipping. That is not all; my uncle holds my wrists hard sometimes, turning them until I cry out in agony, he pours grains on the floor and has me kneel on them for what seems like endless periods of time. He says he takes no pleasure in hurting me, yet he does it often enough.

While I comply to my uncles wishes and I excel in my new subject of study I am rewarded. I am gifted new dresses, each finer than the last as a reward for my ceaseless labour. My uncle is pleased with me, though he has little cause to be, I am merely doing what I must, out of nothing more than obligation. As the years go by I begin to notice my uncle’s regard towards me change…his eyes linger far too long. Sometimes I swear I can _hear_ him thinking as he looks at me and I shudder to think what it is that crosses his mind. I am mindful to keep my distance, for I know all too well how these things go.

When I am sixteen I am given my own ladies maid, and she arrives as young and innocent as a calf waiting for the slaughter. She is a lovely thing, quite tall, almost as tall as me, as slim as a pin with light chestnut hair and rich dark eyes, and her name is Gaelle. I believe in a way this girl was my saviour…for she catches the eye of my uncle (she would not be the first) and she thinks him kind, she thinks me kind too at first. I hate her instantly, for she knows nothing of him, she knows nothing of me, she knows nothing of the world. Her innocence torments me. I have always been volatile enough with the staff but there is something about this girl that causes me to rage, to lose all self-restraint. My callousness makes her nervous and when she is nervous she fumbles over the dressing of my hair and I slap her, as hard as my uncle slaps me. I cannot seem to help myself, the more nervous and bumbling she becomes the more I beat her, until one day, I come to myself with my hand raised and I realise why I cannot stand the girl before me; she reminds me of myself…as I once was, before the manor…before my Uncle.

 

**********

 

 

You must remember what I know of the world during my sheltered life - I came straight from the madhouse to my uncle’s manor and I see myself as some sort of animal who was raised in captivity, a creature that would never be able to assimilate or thrive should it be released in the wild.

I read plenty of other books aside from my uncle’s, for he orders huge vats to be delivered to the house so that no one is aware of his true field of study. Though he doesn’t read anything else he orders, he has them arranged in the house, keeping up appearances as they say. I scrounge through them for something, anything of interest to read, whether it is novels or poetry, and one day I stumble across something that catches my eye. It is a used copy of Charles Darwin’s **_On the Origin of Species by Means of Natural Selection_** _._ I hold it in my hand disbelieving that it is here…I have heard of it and desired to read it for some time. It shall become one of my favourites, I shall learn it word for word and I shall cherish it, along with the hand written copy that Madame Boulet gave me so many years ago. I learn English quite fluently and I am finally able to make sense of the History of Twins. It is fascinating the questions these books pose, “Nature over Nurture” and “Survival of the fittest”. I begin to think of myself as an example, I have been sheltered, captive, my whole life, I have been made into something strange and uncommon. How could I have turned out if I had not been born to live the life I lead? The books pose questions, more questions that I yearn for answers to.

I cannot rely on goldmines like this to fall from the sky and so I become proactive, I make friends of sorts with the delivery boy who brings the crates of books and in exchange for a quick grasp of my left breast he is more than willing to carry a note along to the bookseller claiming to be from my uncle. The boy is called Guillaume, and he is a biddable creature. In the notes he carries I place requests for science books, for articles, for anything I can, and these unknowingly to my uncle, go onto his tab at the booksellers. Guillaume’s payment is always the same, a brief groping of my chest while I look at the ceiling patiently waiting for the two minutes to be finished. I remember the discomfort quite clearly, for it was anything but pleasurable and I remember the quiet surprise I felt, by the confirmation of my previous suspicion; that truly, men are mindless beasts willing to do almost anything for the promise of a squeeze of some ripe flesh. This goes quite well for over a year or so until one day we are caught by Mrs Jacquard behind the house, Guillaume with a hand on my breast and me with a note in my hand “from my Uncle”.

She informs my uncle and he is livid…he reads the note requesting a text of the account of a new syndrome by Georges Gilles de la Tourette. I am beaten badly this time, and it is the worst beating I have received for some time. Before hitting me my uncle (I shall never call him Uncle to his face though he has requested plainly, despite all I refuse to obey him in this) coldly, yet calmly explains that these subjects are no business of mine, and that I should never think about going behind his back as I have again. He then instructs me to open the back of my gown and to lay across the table and I do. I have learned it is worse to resist, and he produces a heavy velvet covered rope. He proceeds to whip me with it until I pass out. I do not see Guillaume again, but I am a clever young woman and I have learned from my uncle’s books that there are always ways to get what one wants.

My next accomplice is the postman, and though less easily pleased than Guillaume, we ultimately come to terms. The agreement was long and arduous to come to, for the postman wishes to kiss me and I refuse, he then wants me to touch him and I refuse again. I slowly wear him down until he is satisfied simply with me unveiling the upper part of my body, but he does not get to touch me, and I am glad for truly he is a most repulsive specimen. I am able to get him to make contact with the bookkeeper of a medical library pretending I am a young invalid gentleman that seeks distraction from his pains and with this contact I have access to much more. The librarian sends me copies of the most recent developments in both science and medicine, which I receive, read and then return through the postman. It is what I live for and I believe a bit of nudity here or there is a small price to pay for it.

The staff of the house feel sorry for me, except for Mrs Jacquard of course. From their sly glances and pitying stares I am well aware of the oddity I must seem, bound to the house, friendless, peerless, parentless…they are well aware that my uncle beats me but I detest their pity.

I detest them all.

 

***********

 

 

It is ironic, but in the realms of pleasure I am as well educated as any of the scholar friends of my uncle. I know all realms of passions, women for men, men for men, women for women, orgies, you name the passion…I know it. But I have never been outside the gates of the Manor, just as I had never ventured outside the gates of the Madhouse. I am not permitted to leave. I have never travelled, I have never seen the sea, I have never seen a mountain. I have never been to a market, to a church or to anyone else’s house. I know I am a lady, and this means I am wealthy, but I have never held a coin in my own hand…I have never bought anything in person and the only measure of value I know is that measured in books.

I have never been to Paris, yet I read of it so often in my own novels that I feel I could walk the streets like the corridors of the Manor. I yearn with all my being to go there, to be in the same city as the sharpest minds of our time such as Louis Pasteur, Oscar Wilde, Jules Verne, and so many others. The vibrant city filled with scientists, poets, writers, artists…. A city filled with universities, hospitals and libraries larger than my uncle’s house. I feel I know it though I have never been… I can see myself there, _feel_ myself there as I wander anonymously through the streets. Though I know it to be my own place, the place heart yearns to be I know I will never make it there.

So now that you know what has made me what I am, perhaps you can understand that it was not such an impossible thing to do what I did. I am no longer a child, and though naïve to the real world I am no longer the fanciful youth I once was. I admit, during the naiveté of my youth I was given to imaginings and fancies. I would often steal the paltry storylines of my uncle’s books and turn them to my own uses, the knights in shining armour and the liberation of slaves and mistreated women. Of course it is not the passions from these that I imagined for my own, but rather the idea of a valiant stranger coming to save me from the clutches of my wicked uncle, or the partner that would steal me away from the tower where I am kept prisoner by a terrible man.

Of course I outgrow them as I do my gowns. I realise that fancies are just that…freedom is not something that will ever be a possibility for me. I feel the years pass as a trickle…I read the knowledge of others I shall never meet, I read about places I shall never go and I dream of things I shall never do. I devour Darwin teachings and try to make them in some way my own…survival of the fittest. It seems a logical conclusion.

I wonder…am I too tamed? Would I be like any other captive animal released into the wild? Would my demise be a forgone conclusion? I cannot help but question as I trace the same path by the Manor walls, day after day.

A captive creature I am…but I want to be free.

 

Ironically my chance for freedom will come with the demise of another. I am nineteen when Monsieur Felix Delvinquiere walks into my life with grand plans, dastardly schemes and promises of liberty. And with him the key to my escape. A young thief who will take my place in life…leaving me nameless. And free.


	10. To Dream by Night is to Escape your Life. To Dream by Day is to Make it Happen.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Delphine makes the acquaintance of Monsieur Delvinquiere when he comes to the Manor to create some artwork for Monsieur Leekie... of course this is just a ruse... he has come to the Manor seeking something else. After one shady encounter, Delphine Cormier and her life will be changed forever. We learn more about the complexities that make Delphine the person she is, and we come to learn just how she got herself involved with the dastardly Felix Delvinquiere.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys I hope you enjoy this chapter... it was fun to write:P
> 
> This might be the last update for a while... for two weeks anyway. ( A very likely possibility... I am working on 11 atm and its long so I might split it, which will mean there could be an update next week, but no promises). I am quite swamped atm and simply cannot keep the one a week pace up in the near future ( which sucks cos I have so much fun writing Argot, but I have a dance recital soon and university kicking my ass along with all the other shit I crush into my free time) so: Im thinking one every two weeks? That way I can update frequently enough? It’s not ideal… it makes me woeful but life is a cruel mistress as is work, university, along with everything else. So sorry guys, there are but 24 hours in day!!!  
> Once again a HUGE shout out to Mad_Scientist_88 who is just so awesome and is like a wizard on honing in on areas im struggling with and then telling me how I can better convey what I want to! Seriously would be lost without her... and our ballpit! *gifts her a delicious tarte au citron for all her hard work! *  
> I HOPE YOU ENJOY THIS CHAPTER… twas a fun one to write :D 
> 
> As always, thoughts, opinions, criticisms and general comments are always welcome, here or on tumblr :https://www.tumblr.com/blog/yetanothereireannach

**Chapter 10:**

 

How Monsieur Delvinquiere came into my life was chance, or so I thought so at the time. I have told you my uncle entertained likeminded men such as himself at the Manor, we would dine them and then I would read to them from the newest arrival of my uncle’s books. Monsieur Delvinquiere came to the Manor under the pretence of preparing some erotic prints for my uncle, he would stay at the house as my uncle’s guest for several weeks while he completed the work to my uncle’s satisfaction, and then would leave, payment in hand and leaving my uncles library adorned with scene after scene of his favourite books.

That morning nothing was amiss, I went to labour in the cellar as usual, not having an inkling that that very night the door to my cage would creak open ever so slightly, letting me have a taste of fresh air, and leaving me longing for more. As I sit copying word for word, my Uncle breathes down my neck in the library, inspecting my copy of the borrowed book that he must soon return. His breath lingers close, too close. He murmurs into my ear “We shall have guests tonight Delphine. Be sure to wear the red dress…style your hair differently, it is a rather special occasion. We shall be entertaining a new guest, who shall be staying with us for a time… one who brings us a gift of a book we have yet to put in our index.” I remain rigid as he hovers over me, too close before at last to my great relief he straightens up and makes his way over to his own desk.

The little bell rings and I exhale a breath of gratitude. I look to my uncle before taking my leave. He nods to me and I take my leave ascending the staircase to join Gaelle, who awaits me nervously by the cellar door. I catch her gaze longingly towards the cellar, to my uncle…the stupid little fool. I find I hate her more every day, and it has become ever worse since my uncle has begun to take her to bed. Every time I glance at her I cannot contain the distain, the unpleasant and vulgar thoughts that spring to mind. I strike her often and more savagely that before. She fears me, and so she should. When I join her she flinches, she physically shrinks from me and it is enough…enough to ignite the thing she fears, for a flinch to a temperament like mine is like fuel to a flame. I revel in her discomfort, I keep my gaze hard and steady and she begins to squirm fearing an unannounced slap. I smirk and move past her leading us up to my set of rooms. I have enjoyed her trepidation but this subtle torment is not enough to quell me…I need more.

I stand by the window, thinking over my words and decide to provoke the subject that will discomfort her most. “You know Gaelle, there is a new gentleman coming to the Manor this evening…perhaps he too shall catch your fancy.” I turn and smile to her wickedly as the remark causes her to turn a violent shade of puce.

She sits on the divan and coughs, looks to the door as if contemplating escape and settles on casting her eyes to her laps and saying “I do not know what you mean, Miss.”

I scoff and move from the window, the girl has been my uncle’s latest distraction for some time now and it is not like she does an exceptional job of hiding the fact. “Oh don’t you? I am not blind, though perhaps you are. I dare say a girl as lovely as you could do better, Gentleman or not…hmmm perhaps you could trade up? Perhaps this new gentleman shall be young and handsome…or is old and wrinkled more to your taste?”

I cannot help but draw closer as I speak, my voice is steady, nonchalant…I seek a reaction, I _need_ a reaction. Gaelle is angry, that much is obvious, but she is also frightened for she knows better than to talk back to me. I stop directly in front of her where she still sits upon the divan and I bend, leaning into her, a torturous smirk fixed on my face as I decide to twist the screw deeper. I whisper “Well Gaelle…tell me, do you like a wrinkled saggy frame pressing upon your own, is that better than a young firm man upon you? I trust you have enough experience with both.” She refuses to look at me, she refuses to answer and I reach up quickly with one hand and grab her jaw, hard. I grasp her cheeks and squeeze, he lips pucker, her brow contracts and as I squeeze tighter she lets out a whimper. I press harder still until she mutters “Please Miss. You are hurting me.” I come to myself and release her, my sport having left me quite drained, the pucker of her lips and the frown of her brow dance in my mind. I draw myself back up to full height, sigh and brush at my skirts. Gaelle begins to cry, but I am unmoved… she cries easily, this one. I say “Of course you know it is a farce, if he is one of my uncle’s acquaintances he is as sure to be as old and ugly as the rest of them. Though I doubt it matters much to you…I cannot say my uncle is anything more than decrepit.” I turn away from her gasp, her tears. I wonder briefly if she has ever told my uncle about what I say to her about him… I wonder if she tells him of my torments as they lie together...I wonder if he cares. I doubt it.

 

************

 

 

The next day a carriage arrives at the manor and I watch as a young, tall and rather beautiful man steps from it. He is thin and taller than most men I have met, he has thick dark hair and rich dark eyes, his face is chiselled and despite his dark complexion his bears an indefinable angelic quality. His cheekbones are high, and his mouth impossibly full. I am surprised and I wait, thinking that this cannot be the new acquaintance of my uncle, he is too young… so young. I have had little company with people my own age and I am thrilled yet discomfited by the idea… I think again, that I cannot be; he cannot be the one who is employed with making my uncle’s albums, but I am shocked and piqued when he steps and kisses my uncle his two cheeks and turns and smiles up to the bleak house ahead of him.

I stare, rather gormlessly I am sure, until my uncle catches my eye and gestures me to approach and then introduces me to this stranger “Delphine, this is Monsieur Felix Delvinquiere. Monsieur Delvinquiere, this is my niece Mademoiselle Delphine Cormier.”

This Monsieur Delvinquiere takes my hand and dips his lips to it and kisses me lightly. His lips are plump, his skin soft and bare of whiskers as I feel them press against the back of my hand. He stands straight and inclines his head to me and I cannot remove my gaze from him, for there is something about him that compels my strict attention, it is a feeling… like cold water been trickled down my back… I cannot fathom this sense of premonition I feel, but is both frightens and intrigues me. I shudder and am shaken from my stupor as the staff begin to take action and remove his things from the carriage, and I watch him as he follow my uncle into the house, and I continue to watch after he is gone.

That night we are joined by two more of my uncle’s friends; Monsieur Claus, a nice man considering the subjects that is his trade. Monsieur Claus I am relatively fond of, he is a close friend of my uncle and has always treated me with respect and kindness. He does not look at me lecherously, or like I am an oddity. He is accompanied of course by the much less tasteful Monsieur Duncan, and I feel his eyes follow me long after I have managed to disengage from his distasteful greeting. We speak in English for their sakes, for Monsieur Claus is Belgian and Monsieur Duncan is English…my years of learning have left me fluent in English and my uncle is an exceptional English speaker, and he speaks almost without accent. Monsieur Delvinquiere it turns out can speak passable English but I have the impression he understands less of the conversation than he lets on.

However as we sit to dine I notice his eyes trained on me more than once, and each time I catch him he looks away. It makes me uneasy, but not for the same reasons Monsieur Duncan’s gaze does. I am intrigued by this man but not because he is handsome, for he is little to my taste, but rather…I feel an inexplicable sense of recognition in the situation, he looks at me as I do him, not with heat but with calculation. When I see him staring at me I feel like he is analysing me, weighing me up and I begin to question why. I dare not gaze at him plainly, as my uncle is an observant man and I do not wish to provoke his temper.

I half listen to their conversation, staring down at my plate, silent, as a woman is supposed to be in such situations. My uncle clears his throat and speaks “Monsieur Delvinquiere, I hear you are something of an artist outside of your work.”

“Yes sir, while I am involved in the rendering of erotic prints and imagery, my interests extend well beyond that. I am interested in art for something of its own sake, though one must pay the bills somehow, Sir.”

My uncle continues to chew slowly, regarding the newcomer with a contemplative gaze “Indeed. Well I find your work in the realms of pleasure most satisfactory from what I have seen. I dare say I should be pleased with the prints you shall create for me, though I must say I care less for the pictures than my library. I am sure Monsieur Duncan has told you what it is that I am working on?”

“Yes sir, indeed he has...I have been told you are compiling an index?”

My uncle leans back in his chair, a smile gracing his thin lips “Yes it is an index indeed…the greatest of its kind. It is one thousand two hundred pages in length, so far.” I see Monsieur Delvinquiere’s eyebrows rise and my uncle, looking more cadaverous than ever in the candlelight laughs dryly at his expression before he continues “However, what really marks it apart from his compatriots is that it is organised like no other. It is organised not by the date of publication, nor even the title. We, my niece and I, are dividing it pleasure by pleasure. Where are we now, Delphine?”

I stare at my glass, into the pool of deep red that swirls at the bottom of it and I answer blandly “We are at the practice of Bondage Erotique, Monsieur Leekie.”

Monsieur Delvinquiere tries to look unsurprised but I can feel his discomfort from across the room. I raise my eyes from my glass to look at him and I catch him glance away from me quickly. My uncle, positively revelling in the talk of his life’s work continues on, droning self-satisfactorily “Of course it is but the first of a line of many more to come…I should say we will at least complete three volumes before I leave this earth and of course, I suppose Delphine will continue our life’s work…it has become her index as much as mine. We are making history in our way, for there has never been such a creation, never a universal index on such a theme.”

When my uncle begins to speak of me my heart stutters…I begin to panic…has the index become my own as well? Would I truly stay on and continue its compilation even after my prison keeper has passed? And then I realise, by the time he dies I will at least be forty…what else could I do? I do not know how, perhaps it is because I refused to acknowledge it, but I never realised my own life would almost be done by the time my uncle should die. Now emotion hits me like and avalanche; I see myself withered, grey and decrepit… sitting in the darkened library and surrounded by books. As I sit they pile higher and higher until I begin to see the mountains of them sway, I know they shall fall…and when they do, they bury me. I feel tears sting my eyes and I will them away. I gave up crying for myself so very long ago. I shall not start again now.

 

 

**********

 

At length the dinner is finished and we retire to the drawing room. My mind still battles against me, emotions still roil in my belly but I refuse them again and again. Monsieur Delvinquiere pulls out a text from his bag, one that we have not yet catalogued and my uncle clutches it greedily. It is called “ _A Novice’s Education.”_ I place the book on the bookstand in the centre of the candlelit room and train my eyes on the words in front of me, trying to ignore the piercing stares of the four men gazing at me with rapt attention. I take a deep breath, and I begin to recite.

The book’s theme is filled with common enough perversions; it is the tale of a young monk who begins his education in a monastery. The quality of writing is mediocre but the rarity of the theme renders it to be something special. At length I am finished, my voice is tired and the men clap as I close the book.

After the reading I am still yet to be excused, I am well used to the readings by now but this time I feel uneasy. I yearn to be dismissed so I can retire to my room and escape the thoughtful gaze of Monsieur Delvinquiere, because his lingering eyes feel like they burn through me. I am no longer curious, but rather wearied by it and I draw to the corner of the room and pace by the bookshelf quietly, not bothering to listen to the men’s conversation. At length I notice that Monsieur Delvinquiere has managed to extract himself from the conversation and is making a slow casual approach to my side.

I stiffen and my heart begins to hammer inexplicably, I feel the hairs stand on the back of my neck, my body cools despite the heat of the room. I fear my Uncle shall be less than pleased that this young man is making his way to speak to me, even if I am not the one to initiate the conversation. As he draws to my side I glance back to my uncle, but he is engaged in a hearty debate with the two other men and we go unnoticed still. I move to turn from him but he speaks, and I find myself drawn to hear what he wishes to say, and I do not know why.

I begin to question my interest in the man, I briefly wonder if this is attraction I feel, but I immediately dismiss it as I glance him over. While I analyse this _pull_ I feel the answer becomes clear to me. I am drawn to him because this man is not who he seems to be; he is like me, pretending to be something he is not, someone he is not…while all the while there is something else going on under the surface. I play my own role of the studious niece, painstakingly devoting her life to aid her uncle in the pursuit of completing his life’s work, while under the façade, I am as cold and empty as a shell…filled only with anger and hatred for the man I bid to be my keeper. I am a liar…and so is he. I begin to wonder what he is hiding; others would panic knowing themselves faced with falsehoods but I am comforted by it. He doesn’t notice my observation and begins speaking to me in hushed tones “that was quite a reading Mademoiselle Cormier. I dare say you must be tired after reading so long, or perhaps you are too well exercised in it to notice?”

I gaze levelly at him trying to decide whether there is an ulterior meaning to his words. I decide not and answer flatly “Well, I would not know Monsieur Delvinquiere…I simply do as I have been trained to do. I rather think it is like a parrot repeating words for its master.”

He looks at me and hesitates before asking, a blush touching his high angular cheek, a light glow that makes me twitch “You care not for the subjects of your study?

I pause before answering, debating whether it is worth my while to do so, but I feel on edge…he puts me on edge. When I answer I do so baldly “Care for them sir? I have no opinion on the matter.”

Monsieur Delvinquiere looks startled a moment at my response and studies me a moment before answering “Forgive me, I do not wish to speak out of turn it just strikes me as…unusual that something that is created to stoke the flames of desire is of no consequence to you.”

The man is aggravating me; I do not know what makes him think he has the right to speak to me in such a way. I do not know why I feel compelled to respond. I should have walked away but I didn’t…I respond freely, honestly, and harshly. “It is typical for a man to say such things, but let me ask you this - do you really think that women in reality feel such things? Those books are written by men, for men, the subject is of no consequence to me because I know what most people do not. That it is fantasy. It is fiction written for poor fools who know no better and have a shilling to spend.”

I feel a blush rise to my cheeks as the weight of my words sink between both of us…I have been most rude, but I find it hard to care. Monsieur Delvinquiere to my satisfaction seems to have been rendered momentarily speechless. He blinks for a moment, as if he does not know what to say, and then to my surprise and he changes the topic completely, “So Miss Cormier, what is it you plan to do when the index is finished?”

His question catches me off guard after my little outburst, I am discomfited that he should so easily disregard what I have said and when I answer it is lowly, my tone in tainted with poorly disguised rage “ You heard my Uncle at dinner. The work will continue until his death and I…I should say I shall remain here, finishing his life’s work even after he is gone.”

I watch as he draws himself up, and narrows his eyes slightly as he asks me, in barely more than a whisper, glancing to the small cluster of men who are still engaged in a futile debate of some sort. “Is that what you want?”

My anger and frustration is beginning to get the better of me, I feel the blush of my cheeks and I begin to shake ever so slightly. I speak with my teeth gritted “It is what I have bred to do. What I want is irrelevant.”

He can sense my anger and he treads a little more carefully and when he asked me his next question it is tentative, hesitant “And would you not wish to leave?”

At this I actually let out a strangled bark of nervous laughter, which I stifle, quickly with the back of my hand “Leave? Where would I go? I am an orphan, Sir and my uncle is my guardian.”

Monsieur Delvinquiere glances to the men again before taking a deep breath and blurting quite gracelessly “You could marry. You are young and certainly a very beautiful woman.”

I now see where this is going and I cannot help but roll my eyes, impolite as it is. The anger drains from me and is replaced with fatigue. I begin to look for a way to extract myself from the conversation without making a scene. My uncle would be unhappy should he notice just how long our new guest and I have been talking, and if he were to become aware of the subject...I would be whipped senseless. I meet his gaze and I feel a sarcastic smile tug at my features “Marry, Monsieur Delvinquiere? Do you really think after all the work my uncle has put into creating a minion for the continuation of his life’s work that he would allow this minion, me, to marry? Never. There is about as much chance of me marrying as of my uncle deciding one day to set his entire collection ablaze. I am dependent on his permission to do so…and he shall never give it.”

I begin to feel heat flush to my cheek and will it desperately away. I am embarrassed by my words, embarrassed by my lack of control and I begin to see a slight grin appear at the corners of Monsieur Delvinquiere’s cheeks. I jump as my uncle calls me over to him and so does Monsieur Delvinquiere and we pull apart from each other, as if we had been doing something interdict. I look to my uncle to see if he has noticed and I find his gaze is trained on me as I approach, I feel myself colour harder as I ask my uncle to take my leave. I claim a headache and my uncles hesitates…a surprised and then suspicious expression crossing his face, but ultimately he acquiesces and I head to the door. However I believe he shall make me sorry for it tomorrow.

 

I take my leave gratefully, and I move swiftly to the door, all the while aware of Monsieur Delvinquiere’s gaze on my back. As the door closes I press my back to it, leaning heavily and I desperately try to compose myself. I feel unnerved, exposed and inexplicably piqued by this strange man who has walked into this mansion, into this world of my uncles like he belongs in it. But he doesn’t, he doesn’t belong here anymore than I do. He is like a swan, gliding majestically and smoothly across the water, but underneath the murky surface, its strong legs paddle ceaselessly…furiously, spurring it onward towards its destination. I see it clearly, I see his intrigue, and I am discomfited and perplexed that no one else seems to sense his falsehood. Then a powerful and chilling thought seizes me; what is it that he means for me to see it…and only me? And if so, for what purpose? I tremble but I battle to get a grip on myself. Inhaling a deep breath I push myself from the door and make my way slowly up the staircase, and try as I might, I cannot shake the thought “What does he want from me?”

 

 

************

 

 

I arrive into my drawing room and I find Gaelle sprawled out on the divan asleep…and despite my nerves the sight somehow compels stillness and draws me in further. I draw closer in silence and she doesn’t wake. I study her in her slumber, her skin is golden, her lashes long and dark brown. She truly is a lovely looking young woman, but it is not like I haven’t noticed before. However as I feel my gaze trail over the curve of her hip, I catch myself. This girl is the whore of my uncle and I feel my brow clench and in my agitation I reach out and pinch her sharply. Her eyes flash open in panic and she sits up in an instant.

I move from her but I do not grow easy, I am still restless…I still…fear. I speak to her sharply though this is not unusual in itself. “Undress me. I wish to sleep.”

Gaelle rushes forward and fumbles with my dress but for once I do not slap her. Instead when she is done I go to bed and I send her from me. I lay for hours with a shrinking candle. At length I hear the slight creak of a door and shuffling as Gaelle leaves her chamber for my uncle’s and this is not unusual. I sit and I sit, sleep escaping me but I cannot bring myself to read. I do not know what compels me but I raise myself from the bed in the chill and I walk to the window. I stare out into the inky blackness when a movement catches my eye. I draw back and study from behind the cover of the curtain. Out in the garden I see Monsieur Delvinquiere who has obviously decided to take a breath of air before sleeping. However…it doesn’t explain the pacing he seems to be doing along the length of the house…and then all of a sudden it hits me. I realise what he must be doing. He is counting.

My stomach flips, because it is well known that my floor is at the back of the house, my room is the only one marked by candlelight. He is planning his route to my room, to me, in the dark and creaking house. I begin to panic…it is late, very late and Gaelle is nowhere near! It is highly improper what he means to do, but also dangerous, for I know what it is he must seek and I have no desire to give it to him, I have learned this much at least from the books. I suddenly curse Gaelle, half a house away and on another floor entirely. There are no other servants on this floor…no one should hear me if I call. I shall have to try and talk some sense to him but I fear that he will not take no for an answer.

I pace the room frantically and consider fleeing, but where to and to what end? It would solve nothing; he would just come another night, and another…no. I must deal with the problem directly and leave no room for misinterpretation on my position in regards to his advance.

I wait a long time, or so I think…I begin to hope, to believe that he shall not come but then I hear a tell-tale creak of a floorboard near my room and I pull in my breath and hold it. I consider not answering the door and I curse not being permitted to have a lock. I move to my side table and lift a heavy candleholder, just in case I should need to be…persuasive. I wait to see what he shall do, watching the door knob as if my life depends on it, and it well might…if he does not to knock, it is be a bad indication of what is to come. I begin to tremble as I stare and at length it comes to my relief; a knock, short and sharp.

The knock gives me courage, for it is a promising sign, he seems not to be beyond reason for I deduce that if he were truly determined in his endeavour that he would not knock upon my door, not dare ask for me to entertain him. Then a thought crosses my mind and irks me; he must be very sure of himself, very sure indeed that I admire him…which is truly not the case. I hesitate before striding to the door and pulling it open unceremoniously about two inches. I tuck my naked foot behind it, and hope it shall be enough to block him long enough should he try to enter before I cry out.

I stare at him hard and manage to pull of what I consider to be a haughty demeanour. “Monsieur Delvinquiere, this is quite unacceptable. I’ll have you know my girl is asleep beside, and should I call out, she will come immediately. How dare you come to my chamber in such a way?” I notice he looks nervous…and so he should. What he is doing now would have him expelled from the manor in an instant should my uncle find out.

Though uneasy he meets my gaze steadily trying to feign aloofness but the twitch of his eye betrays him “Mademoiselle Cormier, I believe we both are aware that your maid is occupied elsewhere. But you have nothing to fear from me…I just wish to discuss something of importance with you…but I cannot do it here. Will you permit me entry?”

I hold the door fast and quite literally scoff before stating coldly, “Absolutely not.”

He looks at me, and raises his hand to wipe his mouth. I notice his hand trembles slightly and I wonder briefly whether he is drunk. He tries to smile but it comes off more desperate than warm as he says, “I assure you it will be worth your while.”

I cannot help but laugh incredulously, too loud in the dead silence and he winces and looks about him in the darkness. I compose myself and say, “You are very sure of yourself Mr Delvinquiere, but I can assure you…that you have _nothing_ that I would consider worth my while, Sir.”

All the while we’re talking in harsh whispers and he grows more agitated by the second, it is obviously not going the way he had hoped and I grip the heavy candleholder tighter in my hand that is shielded by the door. I consider closing the door in his face and I debate whether that would be unwise, or not.

He tries to keep his patience but his voice is cracking under the strain of his harsh whispers. “You think so? What about the chance to get away from this dour place? Would that be worth your while?”

This catches my attention. “What do you mean?”

He breathes out a breath of relief and seems to regain some confidence; he stands straighter and offers me a cocky smile. “Mademoiselle Cormier, I shall discuss it with you gladly…inside. Trust me, I offer you my word as a gentleman that I shall not lay a finger upon you.” I hesitate for over a minute, and he lets me think in silence. At length I pull back from the door, I still hold the heavy candleholder in my hand and finally decided, I open the door allowing him to slither in like a snake.

I hesitate and try to decide how to proceed if he approaches me…what if he tries to kiss me? To embrace me? How would I disengage myself in such a way…should I clout him over the head with the candlestick or should I call out? But thankfully he keeps his distance and begins pacing. It occurs to me he could be as nervous as I am.

I say nothing, and in time he seems to gather himself and speak “I am sorry to have to make my way to you like this. I understand it is not proper, but I fear if your uncle become aware of the…interest I have in you” – I stiffen at this and take a hasty step back. He notices but he ploughs on quickly “-that he would send me from the house without hesitation. I know the life you live…I know that your uncle is a cruel man and though his niece, he considers you to be little more than a servant. I know you are prospectless, as he deems you to be, how he intends you to be. I know you are a wealthy woman, but shall never inherit a penny if you do not marry. And his is where I come in…I seek you hand in marriage.”

I feel my mouth drop open in shock, in outrage, how dare he talk to me in such a way, how dare he seek my hand in such a way, like I am little more than a harlot? My eyes narrow…I exhale a breath before replying “Absolutely not. I want you to leave.”

He is surprised at my anger and he tries a different tact; he becomes solicitous spreading his hands imploringly “Just listen to me.”

“No.” I say, “I have had enough. It is past three in the morning and this” – I gesture between us “is the height of improper decorum. I made a mistake receiving you. If you leave now I shall not breathe a word of this to my uncle...but if you shall not leave willingly I shall call out and you will be removed from the Manor.”

He takes a step towards me hands outstretched and I raise the candleholder threateningly. He stops his advance and holds up his hands pleadingly “Please, just give me a chance! I can free you from this place!”

My eyebrows raise and I bite my lip nervously before replying scathingly “Free me? By marrying you?! The very definition of ownership is that of a marriage. You must think me a fool, that I would trade one form of servitude for another! You must be joking…indeed sheltered I may be but I am not stupid. If I were to marry you, you would benefit of the money, not I, because I as your wife would be subject to your beck and call, I would be your mare for breeding and nothing more, you could do what you would with me and I would have no say in the matter. What I deem liberty is a far cry from what you do, Sir.”

He hesitates and takes advantage of me trying to regain my breath after my rant to buy him more time…he lets the words flood from him in a rush “I thought you might say such a thing; but I am clever man and I have done my research on you. I know your case is like no other. I have learned you are a girl like no other. Servants have loose tongues for a coin or two. I anticipated your response of no, and I have thought of a solution that would be mutually beneficial for us both.”

I say nothing and he takes it for ascent to continue. He takes a deep breath and says “If you agree to the marriage I have a way not only to make you rich but also to make you free. And I mean truly free…think of the marriage as a means to an end.”

I smile sarcastically, my tone sharp and bitter as I speak “And how would you suppose to liberate me then Monsieur Delvinquiere? My uncle shall never give you permission to take my hand. Never. And even if so…what then? I would still be attached to you for better or worse.”

He shrugs slightly and grins, his white teeth flashing in the darkness “Well…the answer to your first question is quite simple. I plan to liberate you by devious means of course. Your uncle cannot offer opposition when he does not know of the wedding.”

“And you suppose me so foolish as to run away with a man I do not know? I know what it is you really seek…you can find it on the streets sir, but you shall not find it here. And do not think that you shall fool me with promises of marriage, or freedom. The liberty I seek is one you cannot offer me. It is the liberty of anonymity, of means, of freedom to go where and do what I will, it is a freedom I could never gain as your wife, or otherwise. It is an impossible freedom.”

He looks hard at me. “Mademoiselle Cormier, I will be honest with you now, I shall be candid and I hope you shall heed me. The marriage I propose to you is just that, it is a marriage. I am not asking for a wife, I will not touch you before or after the ceremony, no one needs to know the marriage would not be consummated. Your body is and would continue to be your own.”

I will admit, at this I was taken aback…if he did not want me for a wife, or in his bed…what did he want? “You wish to marry me yet you don’t wish for a wife, or the benefits of having one?”

He wrinkles his nose and shrugs impatiently “I don’t need or want a wife any more than you need or want a husband, and as you said I can find _that_ on any street corner. What _I_ need is money, and what _you_ need is a name…but not mine.”

Money. Money was something like I said I had little experience with. I knew much of the flesh, and how far a man will go to attain it but I was still yet to learn men have the same dark lust for money. What he has said has piqued my interest, he doesn’t desire me and I feel relief, and because he wants something that I deem to be of little importance I am intrigued to hears what else he has to say. I begin to become less adverse to the idea but then I am struck by his last sentence _“what you need is a name… but not mine.”_ I am confused, for he no longer makes sense, why would I marry him if not for his name? I am intrigued, dangerously so. I pause a moment before hesitantly saying “I do not follow.”  
  
The tall slender man begins to pace softly across the worn floorboards, the moonlight from the window illuminating his sculpted face as he turns to me and rather proudly says “You said your liberty will come with being nameless…I have a way to make it so. And I will tell you now, but I am trusting you to hear me until the end…say nothing yet, but let me say my piece.”

I reflect for a moment, just a moment...after all he is already in my room, it is already late and he doesn’t seem to be dangerous…and I am curious. I always have been. I find myself asking what it could hurt to hear what ridiculous thing he has to say. I nod for him to continue, and he does…and what he says will change my view on the world, and my place in it forever.

 

  
************

 

 

This was his plan: He plans to enlist the help of unwitting thief from Paris and set her up as my maid. She shall be our pawn permitting us to put our plans in place. She is my age and of nameless background. She is a thief in the common sense, though her lack of experience first-hand with conning will stand to our advantage. He will secure her aid for a paltry sum, though the sum should hardly matter. She would think me ignorant, naïve and believe her role is to assist Monsieur Delvinquiere’s seduction of me. She will believe she is helping manipulate me into the marriage, and keeping me ignorant of Monsieur’s plans to commit me to the asylum. However it is her who shall be the subject of her plot, and while she so studiously tries to push me into Monsieur’s embrace she will be unwittingly pushing herself closer to the madhouse gates where unbeknownst to her, she will then take my place, and I hers.

I listen but I immediately notice the gaping flaw in the plan; I was known in Maison Des Eaux. Even if ten years have passed, there may still be nurses that remember my name. I tell Monsieur Delvinquiere that the people of the madhouse know me, that I grew up there…his eyes widen a moment and I can hear him thinking. However after a minute he smiles and says, “It is no matter. Delphine is a common name and the girl doesn’t resemble you even slightly. Remember, you shall no longer be Delphine Cormier, but Delphine Delvinquiere… and this is the woman who will be committed, nobody shall make the connection. Of course the girl will protest, but all the better that she does, for the more she struggles the madder she shall seem, sealing her own fate. Besides we will be lining the pockets of the Director…you would be surprised at how few scruples a man can have when there is gold involved.”

I say nothing…I feel as though I am rooted to the spot and I feel the hairs lift on the back of my neck as the thought unbidden jumps to the forefront of my mind “This _could_ work.”

 

Monsieur Delvinquiere, seeing my dazed expression smiles and it is a slow languid thing, he pauses and sighs “There Mademoiselle Cormier you have it. Delphine Cormier shall cease to exist when we marry, and Delphine Delvinquiere shall be locked safely behind closed gates while Cosima Niehaus, a wealthy unattached woman shall be free to do what she will with exactly half of Mademoiselle Cormier’s fortune. You shall have the anonymity, you shall have means and your uncle will never find you. I believe this is the liberty and anonymity you were speaking of, no?”

He at last stops his pacing; he slips down onto my divan and looks positively triumphant.

I bite my lip and run my hands through my unruly curls, I narrow my eyes as I speak “And I…as Cosima Niehaus…would be free to disappear with precisely _half_ my fortune you say?”

Monsieur Delvinquiere’s smile grows ever wider, he stretches languidly and flicks the hair from his eyes “Yes, well half your fortune is more than a fair price to pay for such a freedom…wouldn’t you agree? I admit, I am not quite as flush in pocket as I could be or should be. This is where you come in…we shall marry, after we deposit this girl in the asylum we shall spend a few weeks together in Paris waiting for the formalities to be formalised, and the funds to come in. At this stage your identity would not matter, in Paris you are not known and I can simply pretend you are my mistress. As soon as the funds come through we half it and part ways…what do you say?”

I look from him into the darkness, my mind is buzzing, and my body is thrumming with excitement, nervousness, trepidation…I am not sure.

'It would never work.'

He sits forward earnestly and looks me dead in the eye “It would work, if we worked together.”

I cannot help the small thrill that flitters through me at the very _thought_ of its success, but then I realise… it cannot be so easy, she must have someone who will question her disappearance “Won’t anyone come looking for her, her family?”

Monsieur smirks, “She hasn’t got a family, at least not a true one. She is an orphan like you, though she has a sort of guardian, an Irish woman but I know how to deal with her. I shall spread a rumour that she has fled with the money she was supposed to get for conning you into the madhouse. Her guardian will think herself double-crossed and forget her, and she has no one else who would look for her.”

I cannot help but nod along to what he says, for it seems logical in itself, however I am hesitant, for despite everything she is a living girl…and mentally sound. Could I really allow her to be committed to the asylum in my place knowing what I know of it, of the women, of the things that occur and the treatments used?

I need to know why there of all places and so I clear my throat and try to sound unconcerned but in reality my heart is hammering like a drum “Why the asylum?”

Monsieur Delvinquiere seems genuinely surprised by my question; the smile fades from his face…he hesitates, as if gauging how much he should tell me. I gaze at him stoutly and he sighs before responding as if embarrassed by the ugly truth. “I know it seems cruel…but there is little we can do if you wish to have a new identity and the money. It really is the best solution for getting rid of the girl without killing her, and even her insistence of her identity will seal her fate faster still…for it shall make her seem madder. It is distasteful, I know…but life, out there in the real world, it distasteful in itself.”

I absorb his words and somehow I feel quite untouched by the horror of them. I am again struck by the idea of survival of the fittest...this is my chance. It is her or me. I no longer wish to just survive. I wish to thrive.

 

The words come out of my mouth before I realise I have spoken. “I shall do it.”

 

His face alights in a relieved and excited smile, he rubs his hands together and stands in an instant, he paces towards me but stops catching the shift in my expression… instead he extends a hand for me to shake. I look at it and hesitate for I am struck by a thought - I cannot trust this man, how I can be sure that he will not betray me too? I need insurance. “How can I be sure you will not escape with all the money once I marry you? How can I trust you?”

He sighs and hesitates, and lowers his hand and thinks for a few minutes. A solution comes to him because he becomes once again animated…excited. He says “As for trust, when we agree to this our freedom will depend on the other. But I understand your hesitation…what about this? We shall see the lawyer together to receive the banknote that will enable us to make the withdrawal of the funds, then you will accompany me directly to the bank to make the withdrawal and then when it is done it is you who shall distribute the money and if you still fear me double crossing you… I shall give you my papers beforehand. I cannot travel without them. Of course we cannot tell the banker that you are Mademoiselle Delvinquiere but he will easily accept you as my Mistress. These things are not uncommon, and it is Paris after all. When all is done, you are free to do what you will, go where you will, for I will have brought you Cosima’s papers, and you may travel freely. The only thing you must do is keep silent in regards to how you became so wealthy, because know this now…Cosima is of a different class entirely obviously. You shall no longer be a Lady, but you shall have money, and once you are rich, the rest is irrelevant. I should also inform you, what we mean to do is highly illegal…if we were to be found out we would both be arrested and the consequences would be…dire. If you are in this, truly in this…you are in it with me, until the very end. So…is your answer still yes?”

I stand tall and think about all he says, I feel the weight of his words, and I gauge the gravity of the dastardly thing we mean to do to a girl my own age. I think of my uncle, his breath lingering on the exposed skin of my neck, I think of the flecks of spittle that fly from his mouth as he whips me, I think of the image I had at the table at dinner of myself, a withered old crone, and swallowed by books. I hold his gaze, I do not tremble and I extend my hand. He takes it.

“Yes.”

With that one word and a brief clasping of hands my life changed forever. I had taken my first step closer to the rest of my life, and I yearned to take the second. I felt my freedom beckon through the darkness, its slow and heavy seduction the only one I ever believed myself capable of yielding to. It was the beginning of the end, and paradoxically it was the beginning of the rest of my life.


	11. The Very Essence of Instinct is That it's Followed Independently of Reason.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> OK HEADS UP: Trigger warnings, scenes of Graphic Violence. 
> 
> After Delphine meets Monsieur Delvinquiere and agrees to his dubious plot we learn a little more about Delphine's life, her motivations and fears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello dear readers, I am sorry for the delay, life and a series of mishaps have left myself and my trusty beta free to work in peace... and such is life. 
> 
> Anyway a huge shout out as always to She Who Has No Nickname, the beta who makes all things possible. I send this along with good vibes and some rum for a change... we drink a lot of whiskey, and though divine, its pleasant to mix it up a bit ;D
> 
> Heads up for this, there is both violence, descriptions of blood and some sexual violence in this chapter, so just be WARNED:o You gotta sometimes dig through the mud to get to the gold though and this was one of those times :D Anyways, as always I hope you enjoy xx

 

**Chapter 12**

 

You may think me cold, but do not think for a moment that I felt easy with our dubious pact. Callous I may be, but soulless I am not. Sleep does not come that night after he has left, no matter how much I smoke and as I lie awake it becomes steadily brighter and I warier, and more perturbed by the pact I have made. It is as if Monsieur Delvinquiere was the devil and he had come to tempt me, to test me… and I have failed. If the price should be my soul I wonder if it is worth it…after all, promises are easy to make in the dark, but in the clear light of day, their sharp and jagged edges and make themselves seen. The true weight of what I have vowed to do disturbs me, so much that after hours of self-doubt and abhorrence I rise with the intention to seek out Monsieur Delvinquiere and tell him firmly the whole arrangement is off, to tell that I had been seized by his words and guile… that I had been seized by folly. I plan to tell him that he is a scoundrel and a blaggard and that I want nothing more to do with him. That is my plan, but I do not see him at breakfast, and I descend to my uncle in the library. I had forgotten, in the plans of last night, my impromptu departure from the reading and as soon as I enter the cellar the stern gaze of my uncle reminds me that he has not.

I sigh internally as I dare not do so aloud, for I know that will enrage him further. Instead I move to my desk, all the while wary that his hard resolute regard follows my every move. I sit and pull open the book before me and begin my work. He stares at me still, and I know what game he is playing. Monsieur Leekie is trying to make me nervous, it is a tactic I employ all too often on Gaelle, but I am far too used to my uncles ire now for it to have much effect. I know what is coming, he shall hit me, and I know it shall be bad because he seems to particularly be taking his time about it. He is trying to build trepidation, but I am not afraid.

Finally he breaks his silence and stands from his desk. “Have you recovered from your…headache Delphine?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Our guests were most disappointed do have their evening with you cut short…in fact the only one you seemed to talk to all evening was Monsieur Delvinquiere. What were you talking about that had you so involved in the corner of the library?”

“I am sorry I disappointed them, Sir. I was feeling most unwell…and Monsieur Delvinquiere and I were just talking about how he plans to render your prints, Sir.”

My uncle’s stern regard never wavers “Is that all?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Very well. Stand.”

 

I do, and then it comes and when it does, it comes violently and with his preferred tool - the cane. I support myself on the desk as it lashes me again and again…tears don’t come, but I cannot keep the small shrieks mute as they escape from between my pressed lips.

As he beats me his breathing becomes harsher; his flogs heavier and heavier…the pain never lessens, no matter how used to it I am. When he is done, his face is puce, his lips flecked with spittle and as I hesitantly raise myself to standing I notice it…the hunger in his regard. I back away and he steps forward. I glance down and see he is plainly…aroused. Bile rises to my throat. I panic and move further back, trying to keep my expression neutral, trying to gain space, weighing up my options. However it seems he is too far-gone; his eyes are glazed and unclear and I know…there is only one thing that could save me now. I bring my hand to my bloody lip and gather as much blood on it as I can. I then feign being faint. I am close now…I stagger the few steps to my desk and fake swooning. I plant my bloody palm face down onto the open page of the copy I have been working on and then fall.

I let the book fall to the floor and then my uncle gasps, his gaze clears and he takes in the spoiled copy. He bends and snatches it up as I remain on the floor, and I hear my uncle shriek, seeing the blood marking one of his treasures. The last thing I remember is him kicking me hard…before I faint truly.

 

***********

 

When I wake I do so in agony, but also relief…it worked. I wake up alone, and fully clothed in the cellar. My uncle is gone and the candles are burnt out. I assume it’s late; it must be for I am stiff and the cellar is cold. I heave myself from the floor, clutching my ribs where my uncle landed his heavy kick. It hurts to breathe but I doubt anything is broken. Not that it would matter, I would suffer a body of broken bones to save myself from that man. I limp heavily to the door and make my way up the stairs.

After I leave shaking and bloodied, my mind spirals from one scenario to another. It was not the first time I have noticed his unhealthy interest in me, but it _is_ the first time he was going to act on it. I had always thought he would remain restrained but I am quite simply horrified. It hurts all over, but my battered and bruised body is the least of my concerns…I feel there shall be no end to this. It will not be the last time…he will try again. I know it in my bones, and that day is approaching fast. And when it does arrive, I ask myself “what am I to do?” I have limited options but none of them are exceptionally appealing bar one. I will either have kill myself before he touches me or yield to him - though I would rather die - or I shall have to kill him.

However…if I kill him I am signing my own death warrant and be under a guillotine before the month would have passed, so I deem it less than ideal. But it is better than the alternative. I shall not let him lay a finger on me.

Then Monsieur Delvinquiere’s words cross my mind: “I can free you from this place.” I had almost forgotten in my distress that I have another option, one that will leave me breathing and in complete liberty. I think of the vow I made to myself this morning to find and tell Monsieur Delvinquiere that I would not have anything to do with his scheme, but now it seems like a godsend after what I endured in the library. I cannot afford to pass this opportunity up. No matter what the price.

When I arrive to my chamber Gaelle’s eyes widen at the state of me, but there is no sympathy in her regard, not that I would expect any. In her rich chocolate depths all I see is spite, and perhaps a grim satisfaction from the way I must hold myself. I am prone to standing tall and straight, but the blows to my ribs have be hunched and hobbled like an old lady. I don’t resent Gaelle at all for her feelings, I know well that the girl hates me, and so she should…I am as terrible to her as I can be. I am glad there is no pity, because pity I could not handle in the face of what happened to me today. The spite in her eyes warms my heart…it hardens me. It lets me be who I need to be.

 

**********

 

 

The next day I am excused from my work, for my uncle is occupied with Monsieur Delvinquiere and so I am left at leisure. My body is a mottled patchwork of ivory, blue and purple. My lip is slightly swollen but my face is otherwise untouched; however on my right side my entire rib cage, stretching from my underarm to my hip, is a violent medley of near black and purple. Every intake of breath is agonising, and it is difficult to move in the beginning, my muscles bunched and tight. As the afternoon wears on, I become less stiff though I am still trapped in my pain and misery, my mind is anxious to talk to Monsieur Delvinquiere…but we are without opportunity so far. I mean to go through with the plan, of this I am sure now more than ever, but I need to take my mind off the absolute terror I feel.

That evening I smoke a little herbe and my soreness ebbs significantly, as does my anxiety. I pace, trying to keep my mind occupied and from spinning back into its apprehensive whirling’s. I open my private drawer and inspect my beloved copy of Origins and leafing through it I am struck with an idea. I bid Gaelle to dress me for walking and I instruct her to keep to the rooms before I take my leave. I descend the staircase and leave the house, breathing in the fresh air deeply despite the harsh protestations of my ribs. Slowly and painfully I begin to a gather a few sticks and tote them with me to the back of the house, where an ancient and rundown solarium is left to disuse. I pull open the rusty door with some difficulty and I enter slowly, stopping a moment with my hand on my side, reposing myself after my exertions. I smile seeing the large table in the centre, half hidden by debris and broken furniture. I put down my bundle of twigs and set to work gingerly clearing the space. In an hour of agonising and slow labour a corner of the solarium is clear of debris, as is the table, and sitting upon it is a makeshift and no doubt shoddy trap that I have made.

In the corner is a large metal tub, once used in a scullery no doubt, and beside it is an intact wicker chair, a bundle of twine and my small pile of twigs. The solarium is surprisingly warm compared to the harsh winter temperatures that lie outside. It will be perfect.

I look to the darkening sky and sigh. I glance down to my filthy coat and take in the state of my hands…I shall have to bathe before dinner. With a wistful glance to the twigs I reluctantly leave, glancing back once to the solarium from the grounds and entering the house with a slight smile on my face.

 

**********

 

Any joy I feel is sucked from me as soon as I enter the house. Gaelle is beside herself, I have kept out much longer than I intended and she must prepare me for dinner. Taking in my dishevelled state she stifles a brief sound of panic and rushes past me to pour water for bathing. I let her wash and dress me without incident, despite the fact she pulls my hair too hard more than once and pulls my corset too tight. She is surprised, I can see it on her face, and so am I…I think that my activities of this afternoon must have some sort of calming effect on me.

The bell tolls and I descend for dinner and despite my composure of this afternoon, I begin to feel nervous because I shall be dining with just Monsieur Delvinquiere and my Uncle tonight alone. It will be the first time I have seen him since I agreed to our plot.

As much as I yearn to be free, to escape from this dreary place and my dreadful uncle and the horrifying probabilities of my future, it doesn’t negate the fear I feel. It thrums through my body as thick and fast as the blood that flows in my veins. I think Monsieur Delvinquiere must guess it because as we sit at the table - he engaged in dour conversation with my uncle and I as always silent – he tries to catch my eye more than once. I catch his regard and hold it, nodding my head imperceptibly and I see his the tension in his shoulders loosen a little as he turns to my uncle and pays me no more mind.

 

My days follow the same pattern for several days. I no longer must go to my uncle in the library for he is occupied with Monsieur Delvinquiere. The respite is welcome and I spend my days creating my little environment for an experiment that I hope to create, and then dining with the two men in the evenings. The tension between our guest and I mounts higher with each passing day…a week has passed since Monsieur Delvinquiere made his way to my rooms and assured my hand in marriage and I my key to freedom, but we have yet to discuss things further. I know he dares not chance making his way to my room again at night so we must wait until the opportunity presents itself. I have recently restarted my work in the library but I must work only until eleven and I leave the men to their men work on the other side of the cellar.

Unwittingly it is my uncle who will provide us this chance. He regards the handwritten copy in front of him with distaste, it is over five hundred pages and I had to copy it by hand. My uncle narrows his eyes at me and says, “Delphine…I believe either you are growing sloppy or your grip is becoming weak. Your writing slopes far too much and the text is irregular.” His words are sharp and I stiffen…I am afraid to be punished after last time and the usual punishment for sloppy work is a caning, and on top of my terror is the knowledge that my ribs are not yet fully healed. I almost gasp in relief when Monsieur Delvinquiere cuts in “Pardon me Sir, but you say her hand slopes? This is a common problem young women face and can easily be corrected. Will you permit me to offer some advice, Sir?”

My uncle glances unhappily again to the words and back to the young man sitting at his side “Yes, please do go on.”

The taller man nods and regards me coolly “Thank you, Sir. It is something I have seen before. A lady’s arm lacks the quality of muscle that man’s arm has, Sir. For a sloping hand the best remedy is simply another form of exercise with a pen or brush. Instead of writing, Mademoiselle Cormier should spend more time drawing or painting, and so strengthen said muscles, Sir”.

My uncle puzzles that for moment before muttering “Hmmm…indeed, I can see the logic in that.”

I see Monsieur Delvinquiere restrain a triumphant smirk as he turns to me and smiles “Yes, indeed, Sir. So Miss Cormier I advise you to pick up your pencil and to start drawing again…your hand will be strengthened in no time and your writing as smooth as it once was.”

He stares at me, his lips baring a smile but his eyes silently urging me. He doesn’t need to tell me what to say...it is obvious. “Well Sir, while I am sure that would be helpful I must confess, I have never drawn nor painted. I wouldn’t know where to begin, or how to do so efficiently enough for it to make much a difference to my musculature.”

Monsieur Delvinquiere feigns shock “Really Mademoiselle Cormier? It is no wonder your arm grows so weak!” Then he turns back to my uncle and says “Monsieur Leekie, if it would please you I would be more than happy to instruct Mademoiselle Cormier in the arts. I am sure you would see a vast improvement in her hand in just a few weeks. ”

My uncle stares at me and I keep my face impassive. I cannot seem too keen but as I see him glance unhappily to the text again he sighs and looks to Monsieur Delvinquiere “And you are sure it will rectify this…problem? Are you sure it is not laziness on my niece’s part?”

Monsieur Delvinquiere responds slowly, his voice low and sincere “Well Sir, from what I have seen your niece is as invested as you in the index. And as I said, it is a common problem for women, the weakening muscle can easily be trained and the most efficient means would be that your niece apply herself to drawing and painting.”

My uncle looks back at me coldly before speaking “Very well, you are to begin instruction next week Delphine. Monsieur Delvinquiere will instruct you in the afternoons. Apply yourself to it, I expect to see results.”

I exhale a breath of relief at the knowledge I had been saved from another beating and also sheer glee that we now have the means and occasion to meet to organise our plan of action. My face remains inexpressive, I nod at my uncle and return my gaze to my lap but not before I catch Monsieur Delvinquiere’s eye. I see his sly smile, and I return him one of my own.

 

**********

 

 

 

Let me be clear: I have resigned myself to his plot, to my part in it…but it terrifies me. I fear not only the possibility of failure, the discovery of our scheming, the reprisal of my uncle and the legal implications, but also I fear the possibility of our success. I have in a way been institutionalised; of this I am well aware. I yearn to be free but I am no fool, I know frighteningly little of the real world. I fear I shall not be able to adapt, that I shall flounder and fail…or worse… desire to come crawling back. I fear so much…but nothing terrified me so much these days as the regard of my uncle. It is enough to make me risk it all, to throw caution to the wind and to throw my lot in with the thieves and scoundrels of France. I just hope, as I once did as a child coming here, that I will find a way to survive.

When we begin our painting lessons Gaelle chaperones. I see her jaw drop when she sees him, for as I have said he is a beautiful specimen of the least fair sex. I knew well she would be drawn to him, how she could not be, he is young and stunning and her lover is old and repugnant. Monsieur Delvinquiere I will come to learn is reckless and it puts me on edge. Now that the wheels have been set in motion for our plot he is like an excited child, he keeps throwing me sly glances and winks, and when he raises his hand to my lips in greeting he kisses where my wedding ring shall sit. Gaelle doesn’t notice, she thinks it chivalrous, gallant…how would she notice when she is too busy staring at his chiselled face? She doesn’t but I do…and I shudder at his audacity, at his arrogance.

As I paint, badly I should add, Monsieur Delvinquiere stands by my side, guiding my hand with the brush. He murmurs nonsense about perspective, and gives me advice and encouragement for my feeble attempts while Gaelle sews on the divan.

He notices her attentions and immediately sets it to his advantage. He smiles at her, talks to her jovially. He catches her eye surreptitiously, pretending to keep his advances hidden to me, but I know well what he seeks to accomplish. Monsieur Delvinquiere plans to seduce her to a certain point and then pretend that he rebuffed her, claiming to my uncle that she made untoward advances to him. I watch him wink boldly to her, and I observe her blush. I smile to myself; it seems to me that she really is quite the little salope. This being said, she is afraid of my uncle to an extent… I know she will not stray from him easily, no matter how handsome he is.

Seeing him act in such away, I should grow cautious and not draw attention to it. I should let her feelings grow, let her think that her secret desire is that…secret. I should, but I cannot seem to help myself though I know it’s reckless; the more drawn to the man she grows, the poor little fool…the more I mock her.

I stand staring out the window and I do not look at her as I speak, but I smile and the words flow from me languidly “Imagine Gaelle, a young strong gentleman in the Manor…and so handsome to boot. He seems quite fond of you. It must make you weigh your options up, so many men, so many opportunities. However if my uncle were to find out…” I turn to look at her at last.

“Find out what Miss? I haven’t done anything!” Her eyes bulge, and she speaks wildly in panic.

I smile teasingly, flipping my mass of curls to the other side of my face while I enjoy her anxiety “Oh Gaelle, you haven’t done anything…yet. But who could blame you? He is a beautiful creature. Don’t you think?”

 

She stares resolutely at me a determined look coming over her expression “I do not know, Miss.”

I am surprised by her countenance. She isn’t nervous or looking about her and is much more resistant than usual, so I dig deeper “You don’t know? Are you blind?”

She narrows her eyes at me and lifts her chin “Perhaps you find him handsome Miss.”

I am momentarily speechless…in the three years as my ladies maid the girl has never dared to answer me back, no matter how vile I was to her. Her defiance amuses me…a challenge at last. I draw closer, she tries to hold her ground, but I see her eyes flutter.

I tilt my head slightly and bite my lip before smiling wickedly. “You think I find him handsome Gaelle?” I draw closer still and she doesn’t move, but she begins to tremble. I press harder “Well…do you?”

Despite her voice quivering, she dares to speak “I don’t know, Miss. I dare say you do.”

My eyebrows raise and my smile spreads wider in delight at my unlikely opponent. “You dare say I do?” I approach until we are almost nose-to-nose; she is just an inch or so smaller than me and I can practically taste her panic.

I raise a hand to stroke her cheek and as she flinches, I smile wider. “Well Gaelle, I must admit…he is very, very pretty” I let my hand linger on her cheek before I lean forward and practically whisper in her ear “But not as pretty as you. I dare say if you hadn’t become occupied by my uncle I would have found a use for you. ” I smile wider, revelling in her discomposure.

My menace is a balm to the wound I have suffered of late, it is an outlet for all the rage I feel. Gaelle’s eyes widen in repulsion as I pull back to look at her reaction; she shakes like a leaf but does not move, she does not dare. My need for torment has almost been sated…all I need is one more thing before I can claim that my need has been satisfied. Still smirking, I land a short hard slap to her cheek before I draw back I begin to laugh…quite madly. Gaelle says nothing; she doesn’t move from that spot. She watches me laugh with the same perturbed expression on her face with her hand to her cheek, thinking over the implication of my words, not that I mean them.

The expression on her face spurs me on and I laugh long and hard until I feel tears leak from my eyes. Gaelle huffs and without my permission the impertinent little bitch storms off and leaves me rejoicing in my mirth. I laugh and laugh until my lungs scream and my eyes run, I laugh until I cannot breathe. I laugh until, it stops being funny. I laugh until the booms that erupt from me turn from those of mirth to misery, and then tears grace my face for quite another reason.

You must understand…I am aware that I am a terrible person, but I have never had an opportunity to be anything else. I especially hate the maid, Gaelle. I hate her for being my uncle’s whore, and seemingly happy to be so. I hate that she is not enough for him, that his eyes and intent haunt me and follow me like a shadow. I hate her for her beauty and for the common wanting of a man so handsome as Monsieur Delvinquiere, and for her thinking that I should want him too.

Let me be clear on this: I am indeed stirred by the man but not in the way that most girls are. I feel nothing in the romantic sense for Monsieur Delvinquiere. I don’t find him attractive or charming, but I can appreciate the effect that his image and charm play on others. I am still a stranger to lust and desire, and I am glad for this…because I know that lust is the beast that lives in humankind. It is the blight of our species, a disease that overcomes logic and reason, this desperate obsession with fusion and meeting of flesh. I find it all repugnant and I pray that I shall always remain so far removed.

 

***********

 

 

Another week goes by numbly. I work in the library and keep a wide berth from my uncle, and Gaelle is more jittery around me than ever. As I am having my “lesson” Monsieur Delvinquiere leans over to me and whispers “Gaelle must be dealt with.”

I stiffen. I know I am to have another girl take the place as my maid, but I had been so preoccupied with thoughts of the new girl that I had quite forgotten about the fact we must first deal with my current maid. I glance up at him and I see him gaze at her coldly…he notes my lack of response and murmurs, “It has to be done.” I swallow and glance back at her briefly, sweeping my paintbrush randomly across the canvas and whispering “How?”

He pauses and raises a dark eyebrow “Mademoiselle Cormier…you know how, I shall try and seduce her. I shall need to tell your uncle that she made an advance at me, and that I, a guest in a gentleman’s house, rebuffed her”

My brow creases, it makes sense but also seems rather unnecessary “Very well, but why bother seducing her at all Felix? You plan on lying to him anyways, why go to the trouble?”

He looks at me, a wolfish grin crossing his features “But Delphine, the chase is half the fun… its half the challenge. I dare say I could have her, but how I to know for sure if I don’t try? However there is more. I fear he shall not believe me…I shall need you to tell your uncle that you saw us kiss and that I pushed her off me. I understand they are…close. I cannot risk my place and so I must blame it on the girl, but if she is less willing than I envisage I need you to be prepared.”

 

I look up at him coldly, he gazed cockily back, without a worry, without a care. It strikes me how much he _enjoys_ all of this, the intrigue, the double crossing, the manipulation…. The game. That is all this is to him, to me it is life or death, and for him it is… sport. I am disgusted momentarily. I think of my uncle’s ire when I tell him that his mistress’ attentions have moved elsewhere and I blanch.

Felix sees my panic stricken face and tries to sooth me “Calm down, it must be done as such. I have heard tales of your uncle’s treatment of you, I wish not for you to have to suffer his wrath but it is the only way. I shall go to Gaelle tonight, and we shall speak to Monsieur Leekie tomorrow.”

Nodding reluctantly I steel myself to the matter at hand, because no matter what the repercussions are, it must be done…and so I shall do it. I decide to let Felix play his game, to do what he will, for it is no concern of mine, I just need the girl gone and one way or another gone she shall be.

 

 

*************

 

The next morning I am told not to come until eleven, after my uncle and Monsieur Delvinquiere have concluded their business. As I make my way down, I pass him on the stairs and our eyes meet, and I know he has accomplished his part of the lie. I continue on my way trying to smother my apprehension and dread of being alone, in the cellar, with my uncle.

I sense his ire as soon as I walk in. He paces by his desk, agitated strides and wheels around to watch me enter. I approach slowly and take my place at my desk. He recommences his pacing and speaks into the silence, “Delphine…Monsieur Delvinquiere has come to me with the most disturbing news.” I lift my head and raise an eyebrow in inquiry.

His cadaverous cheeks quiver in anger as he hisses “Your girl, the maid…apparently made an unrequited advance to our guest Monsieur Delvinquiere in the corridor yesterday evening.”

I say nothing but wait for him to continue.

My lack of interest ignites him, his thin lips contract as he shouts, “She is your servant! Have you nothing to say for her behaviour?”

I take a deep breath and I answer quickly. “Yes Sir, I was aware of the event.”

His translucent eyes bulge as he splutters “You were aware?!” He shakes in his anger and clenches his fist.

I close my eyes briefly and gather my determination “Yes sir, I happened to be passing the corridor on my way out to the garden. Indeed Gaelle, my maid, made a most forward proposition to Monsieur Delvinquiere. She was very insistent, I thought I might intervene but then Monsieur Delvinquiere, ever the gentleman, told her firmly he was not interested for he is staying as a guest in your house. He rebuffed her resolutely and I did not wish to embarrass him by letting on that I had seen what had happened. I went out to the garden for the fresh air and had quite forgotten about it until now, Sir.”

My uncle at this stage is puce in the face and absolutely livid. It gives me a quiet pleasure to see him so bothered by the thought that his little salope was looking for more elsewhere. Maybe that is why it hurts less than usual when he swipes his heavy hand, hard across my cheek. I expect more after my deliciously impertinent speech, but he strides quickly from the room almost spitting at me “The maid is dismissed.”

I didn’t see Gaelle again…I can assume she got the most terrible beating for crossing my uncle. I heard the carriage trundle away but I refused to look out, I refused to look after the girl whose reputation I stole for the sake of fixing the margaute from Paris in her place. I felt badly about it, I am not heartless…but I also know that her reputation was none to spotless in the first place, and so I told myself to add her to the list of people I would inevitably have to trample upon to gain my freedom.

 

*************

 

 

Two days follow before Monsieur Delvinquiere departs for Paris in a bid to acquire the materials he shall need for his work, but of course this is just a pretext. His true motives for going to Paris are to ensure the participation of the girl - the thief, the margaute - who will take my place in the world, and I hers.

I imagine him walking the streets of Paris, through Les Champs Elysées, the streets of Montmatre…and I am overcome with envy. I imagine visiting the national museum, seeing these hospitals that I have read so much about. I can almost _feel_ myself there, and I long for it more than ever because now, unlike never before…it is within my grasp.

It is so close I can almost taste it and am seized with a nervous sort of excitement, of anticipation. It is to begin in a matter of days, and in a matter of weeks I shall be free from this place. Perhaps it is expectation, or nerves that makes it so, but sleep which has never come easy to me seems to evade me more than ever. I find I am more and more reliant on my Herbe to fall asleep. I was prescribed it over five years ago to aid me after suffering a terrible bout of restlessness and sleeplessness, due mainly to my unwillingness to fall asleep. I forced myself to stay awake because of the terrible nightmares that have afflicted me ever since I came here as a child. It got particularly bad when I was thirteen or so after I had an accident. I fell into the river, and being unable to swim, I almost drowned. The doctor called me highly strung, and told me to smoke it in the evening should I feel myself grow on edge. These days, even though I smoke it I am once again plagued by night terrors. It has been a few years since they have plagued me with much frequency, but now they are back in force.

The dream is always the same; I am standing by the slow running river that runs by the Manor. I fall back into it and I feel my body hit the water like lead. I cannot struggle and I find myself paralysed, my body immobile as I sink further downwards, a deadweight that lands upon the silt. It is then that I taste it…the blood…I feel blood flowing from my mouth, my eyes, every part of me. I watch it mix and cloud the murky water and cough, inevitably pulling the mixture into my chest. I know the taste. I have tasted it before. It is my mother’s blood, blood that I swallowed as I tore myself into the world, and tore her from it. I feel my lungs clench in pain as the water and blood floods my lungs, and it is at this point that I always wake, screaming into the darkness.


	12. You Should Never Trust a Wolf in Sheep's Clothing. Because the Only Thing the Wolf Will Ever Want to Do is Break You.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Delphine, now committed to the plot, awaits Cosima's arrival with impatience. When the girl arrives however, things are not as black and white as she thought they would be, Delphine finds herself inexplicably drawn to, and piqued by the girl who has set out to ensure her ruin. How will she proceed?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey friends! Well here is a double update this week, the next shall be up two Thursdays from now :D I was very excited to actually get to the meeting of the two women ( Build-up though necessary is not as fun as the actual meetings- Ive been looking forward to this :D).
> 
> Heads up, there is (unfortunately) a bit more violence and general Aldous Leekie lechery, so I feel inclined to mention trigger warning possibilities. 
> 
> As always thank you to Mad_Scientist_88 for her awesome help and edits, she is the shiznizz and I am forever grateful she offered to look over chapter 5 for me, all those chapters ago :D *reminisces and sighs* -memories.* We are about half way there now in the story and for all those who I haven't lost on the way, thanks for reading :D 
> 
> AS always feel free to leave comments or suggestions on this or on tumblr https://www.tumblr.com/blog/yetanothereireannach

 

**Chapter 12:**

 

Three days later when I receive Monsieur Delvinquiere’s letter marked with the cryptic words “It has been set in motion.” I feel my heart leap from my breast and a yearning so strong encompass my body, longing for his return, longing for the arrival of the pawn necessary for the commencement of our game. It is almost as if Monsieur Delvinquiere _was_ my paramour…or even more so, that _she_ was, for I dreamed of her so…I wanted her so. The physical yearning I felt for her arrival cannot have been much short of the gluttonous lust that I have read about. At least that is what I imagine it to feel like, for it is nothing I have ever felt, it is something I consider myself incapable of feeling. I know I could never want anything, I could not want anyone more than I want my freedom.

I burn the letter, watching the paper curl into itself before turning to ash and set about writing my reply.

The night before she arrives sleep escapes me for hours, not even the thick fog within my drug addled mind grants me respite from the anxiety and anticipation I feel at the knowledge that she will be arriving tomorrow. I imagine her, this Cosima Niehaus…I can see her so clearly in my mind’s eye. I imagine her swarthy, plump and her looks common place. I imagine her nose sharp and her eyes flinty, I can almost hear her sturdy gait, so sure of herself as she walks through the halls of the manor. I imagine her laugh, short and harsh at the thought of my eventual internment. She haunts my every waking moment, the thoughts of her follow me everywhere like a ghost. I need her to arrive. I need this to begin, and with my imagined image of her in mind, I feel myself slip into a seamless sleep.

 

***********

 

 The next morning I rise, time slows to a trickle. I wait and wait, not even the joyful capture of a healthy frog at the riverside is enough to lift my heavy spirits.

Hours pass and she is late. I begin to fear she has thrown it all, that she has changed her mind and a desperate panic seizes me. I have had no word from Monsieur Delvinquiere and as each hour passes I grow more restless. I send the steward Monsieur Dubois to the station to inquire about the recent trains, and when he returns, he returns with her. The general maid Lucille comes to inform me while I am in the drawing room, however I am engaged reading to my uncle and it is late, she needs to be fed and settle in. I swallow the bitterness and frustration I feel at not being able to meet the girl who means to take everything from me until tomorrow.

I shall be stuck once again with Mrs Jacquard as my stand in, as I have been for the last week and a half. We have never warmed to each other, but we seemed to have settled on cold indifference. I feel she pinches me purposely on occasion as she dresses me, but she murmurs an apology when I exclaim and keeps her gaze far from mine. I dare not strike her as I would Gaelle, my uncle wouldn’t tolerate it. I wait, readied for bed, sleepless as I hear the girl creaking and sighing about in her room, just meters from me. The only thing separating us is a thin sheet of timber. Sleep doesn’t come, even after I lay for hours...even after I have smoked three pipe-fulls.

I cannot help myself, I step from my bed and move to her door…I just need to hear her, to know she is truly there, but I am met by dead silence. Disappointed I skulk back to my bed, and I let my thoughts run wild. She is here…at the manor…she is a real, living breathing girl. I feel once again the depth of the evil we mean to do and I shudder, but not for long. I remember what she believes she is here to do. I remember Darwin’s words “One general law, leading to the advancement of all organic beings, namely, multiply, vary, let the strongest live and the weakest die.” I no longer mean to be the weakest. I will survive, I will thrive and shed myself of my shackles. Lulled and quite light in conscience I drift off and manage a few hours of interrupted slumber.

The next morning I arise painfully early, carefully choose my gowns and wait with impatience to be dressed. At what feels like great length Elodie comes to dress me, Mrs Jacquard being occupied with the new girl and I regard her from the corner of my eye. We do not talk much, but I know she knows how volatile I can be. She avoids my gaze and I clear my throat feigning nonchalance as I ask, “So, the new girl has arrived then.”

She murmurs in response “Yes, Miss.”

I pause, unaccustomed to…chit-chat with the servants “Is she well settled?”

She glances up at me quickly in surprise, but quickly lowers her gaze “I believe so, Miss.”

I roll my eyes and I sigh, the mundane questions are beginning to unnerve me.

I blurt, quite gracelessly “So, what do you think of her?” I cannot quite believe the words have left my lips...it is highly improper to address a member of staff as such, especially a lower member of staff.

She stiffens, her hands still at my corset. “Think Miss?”

I figure that I have already gone this far, I might as well throw propriety to the wind and get the answer I was looking for. “Yes. What do you think of the new girl?”

She blinks and stammers, “I should say, I do not know Miss…I talked to her but for a bit this morning. She seems nice…she is a pretty thing…perhaps a bit lower in her manners than Gaelle but altogether she seems nice enough.”

I sigh, I could get more blood from a stone. I nod. “Very well. Have Mrs Jacquard send her to me directly after she eats. I wish to make her acquaintance before I go to the library.”

As she leaves, she casts me a confused glance. I wait over half an hour…but that is not a surprise, for it is still frightfully early.

I walk through my chambers, from room to room restlessly. I ask myself...what should I say? How should I act? What is she thinking? Is she as scared as I am? Does she take me for an utter fool? Can I do this? I must.

I start, having been lost in my reveries, as there is a sharp knock on the door and I immediately panic. I wheel into my room and shut the door fast behind me. I hear the door to the parlour open and two sets of footsteps enter. My heart beats faster than ever before...I feel faint and my entire body shakes with a force that chatters my teeth. She cannot see me like this. I take a deep steadying breath, and then another...I wait a minute, or perhaps two as I feel the tension drain from my body. The shaking stops, and while my heart still beats fast, I no longer feel as if I am coming undone. I turn to the door and close my eyes a moment, my chin raised and I exhale before I let my eyes fly open, a new determination thrumming through my body. I put my hand to the knob, and I turn it.

 

***********

 

 

The door opens and for a moment my eyes fix on the dour pouchy face of Mrs Jacquard before they bounce to the small, slight figure standing a little behind her.

Small…so much smaller than I expected. I blink and try to hide my surprise, but I have almost an entire head on the girl. She is slim…I had imagined her to be plump and the thought bemuses me a moment. She is pretty, very pretty, in a rather unconventional sense and this discomfits me further. I take in her hair and it is dark, but not quite as dark as I had imagined. She is not swarthy...no…instead her skin is a light gold…and her hair a rich and deep mahogany that shines even in the weak morning light.

I let my eyes settle on her face, and my eyes widen briefly in surprise for she wears…spectacles. I had never supposed such a mundane idea…the knowledge of this makes her realer somehow...and I begin to feel myself colour. She looks me over too and as her dark eyes (I cannot be sure to the colour yet) glance me over I see her eyes widen slightly as she takes me in. I am not what she expected either evidently. I am again troubled by her slightness…she seems younger than her years, but I have been told she is eighteen. She tries to play the role of the humble servant but I also detect a hint of smugness in her demeanour. She is pleased with me, I can tell. I can almost see her laughing internally, imagining me to be an easy mark. If only she knew.

After a lengthy and intense study she seems to come to herself, she blinks once quickly and shoves her glasses up higher onto the bridge of her nose before dipping into a clumsy curtsey.

I try to ignore the humanising gesture of the girl adjusting her glasses and I speak. I, to my great relief, manage to catch myself before calling her Miss Niehaus. I know it is not the name she comes here bearing, the name that is as false as her. I greet her “Miss Fournier, you are to be my new maid? I hope you find it pleasant here at the Manor…I was so sorry to hear about your mother but perhaps it is indeed best to take a break from Paris. Can I ask, what is your first name?”

She replies smoothly, seamlessly, assured in playing role of the humble servant. She says her name and she pronounces it differently than I believed it to be. I thought it to be Cos-i-ma, which is much easier on the tongue. She pronounces it Coseema. I am intrigued.

Mrs Jacquard looks at the scene with amusement. I know she finds my behaviour strange...I have never gone out of my way to engage or even have some semblance of kindness towards any member of staff, never mind my own ladies maid. I bid her to leave and I see she is reluctant…she is greedy for more surprising details that she can share with the scullery maids. However she cannot refuse and she leaves grudgingly.

As she leaves Cosima looks after her with a look of slight dismay on her face, but she quickly arranges her features and follows me. As I sit she sits close beside me, much closer than I would have expected considering the length of the divan, and brings out a letter from her pocket. Sealed with wax. I take it from her and I open it, angling my body away from her, lest she read the text, our proximity being no barrier.

I almost gasp as I read the rash and foolhardy text. I feel myself colour in panic as I glance to the brunette who observes me with her head tilted slightly to the side. I drop my eyes again to the letter and I read:

“Dear beloved, I shall not write my name but you know me as well as you know yourself. I cannot return to the manor for some time, perhaps not even for two weeks, but in my absence I send you a gift…the little Margaute you have heard so much about in the past. As I sit here at the table she gazes at me…nervously yes…but she is ours. She shall not falter, and neither shall we. This is the girl you shall become in a matter of months. I imagine she is with you now? Looking at you while you read this…don’t let her ignorance to our plans fool you, you must be careful. She is a sharp girl and an avid observer. Don’t let your guard down for a second. When you are finished reading this burn it.”

I feel bile rise to my throat and fear makes my stomach clench. What an idiot he must be to so plainly put what we mean to do in words, and send with the very girl herself? The level of folly and carelessness makes me anxious, it is possible that she could have easily read it and resealed the envelope…she is a margaute after all. I do not yet know she is completely illiterate though Monsieur Delvinquiere had mentioned something like it when I suggested that I write to her directly.

I try to calm my fluttering heart and I try to play off my obvious discomposure…I mention some nonsense and inquire to the wellbeing of Monsieur Delvinquiere and I see her sag in relief before answering back quickly. My intense scrutiny of the letter has left her nervous, and I wish to know why. I plan to test her level of literacy, because I cannot believe she cannot read a word. I cannot believe that she would have been incapable of reading the damning words on that paper which is now nestled securely in my pocket. I see her face seize up as I mention the importance of books in the household…her eyes widen behind her spectacles, and as usual the little demon that lives in me with a habit for torment spurs me on. But I keep my tone as kind as I can, and I command her to read.

When she says “forty-six?” her eyes look up at me with such a mixture of desperation and hope that I quite forget my distaste for her in that moment. I stride to her and I look at the page…at the very bottom the number stands out and a laugh escapes me. It is true, she cannot read and she cannot write either. We are safe…but I shall tell Monsieur Delvinquiere to be more prudent in future. We cannot afford to take risks.

I take a deep breath, my heart slowing and I tell her that I should hope we shall be friends, a laughable thought for us both, I am sure. This false kindness is exhausting, and I tell her to ready my rooms and to collect me from the library at one. I take my leave; I am overdue in the library and I fear my uncle’s displeasure.

The girl’s relief is almost palpable, she so obviously feared her illiteracy would cost her place, would cost her the fortune she so desperately seeks. As I leave she says “Yes, Miss Cormier” and I am struck by a thought…if I am to get to know this girl, to cheat her and become her as I plan to, I must get closer. I question vaguely if I can…kindness is not in my nature but I steel myself. I have heard the saying “Keep your friends close and your enemies closer.” I have no friends…but I plan to bring this enemy as close as I can. I smile and I tell her to call me Delphine. I bid her a nonchalant enchantée before my departure and when I leave, she smiles and it is a smile unlike any I have ever seen before. For a moment she is transformed from the thief who plans to be my ruin to a girl so filled with joy it’s contagious. She utters her own enchantée and I leave, and as I turn from her grin I release the breath that had gotten caught somewhere in my chest.

 

***********

 

 

I go to the cellar and I find my mind is agitated and filled with thoughts of her. I imagine her slithering through my room, touching my dresses, my few things…I imagine her fondling my rich robes and her opening each of my drawers one by one, puzzling over the one that I keep locked. I find myself reliving the moment her smile split across her face and the smile quite troubles me. It is something that is quite unexpected, this smile. I find myself trying to shake my thoughts of it and I reason that as a woman she is attractive surely, she has a pleasant complexion and arresting features. Her lips, though plump, do nothing to betray the extent or brilliance of her smile. It spreads over her face, not just the lower half but it also reaches her eyes. Behind her spectacles they glitter and dance in amusement. Two shy depressions in her cheeks mark the subtle dimples that do not appear at all in the absence of her smile. It is quite literally an awe inspiring thing that someone so small can produce such a thing that dominates not just her face, but the room she is in. I notice the danger, and I steel myself, I cannot find her so…intriguing.

I am shaken from train of thought abruptly, and I jump in fright when my uncle practically shouts “Delphine! Are you finished with that copy? I need you to begin work on this one.“ I hand him the rewritten pages, the offending bloody ones having been cut free and new pages sewn in. “Yes, Sir.” I have had no more trouble with my uncle for the moment to my relief, but still keep a healthy distance of several feet at all times.

I feel the day go so slowly and I begin to question if she is late. Surely the bell should have rung by now? I am caught off guard as the inner door to the cellar is slowly drawn open and I am on my feet before I know it. How could I have been so foolish, how could I have forgotten?!

As she comes in my uncle’s head whips up and he screeches at her, but I hear nothing…I must stop her from crossing the red line! I stumble towards her, almost tripping and quite unceremoniously push her out the door and shut it in her face. My uncle bellows more and he lifts himself from the desk. I move from the door and he draws close to me and grabs my wrist “Who was that?!”

I wince as his grip on my wrist grows tighter “I am sorry Monsieur Leekie. She is the new maid.”

“HOW DARE SHE COME HERE! Is she mad?! Did she not read the sign?!”

“No, it is my fault sir, she cannot read and I forgot to tell her about the bell this morning, Sir.”

He slaps me backhanded, and my head whips to the side. He hisses “You forgot?! What if she has seen things?!”

I grit my teeth and try to blink away the stars that have erupted behind my eyelids “I am sorry. I’m sure she saw nothing. It will not happen again.”

“She better not have. Deal with it.”

I murmur my agreement as I take my leave. I am relieved I have gotten off so lightly but his slap was a terribly hard one and my head rings.

I open the door and at once come face to face with the wide-eyed and panicked girl, seeming smaller still in the gloom. She trembles slightly and I see her eyes widen at the state of my cheek. I inhale a quick breath and suppress the urge to strike the girl; my palm twitches but I know I must not. I must feign kindness…and I see now it shall be a challenge. My cheek stings and I leave the cellar quickly. I am fuming but I know I cannot blame the girl for this, it was my own oversight, my own carelessness that brought her down to the cellar. I curse my negligence, because now my uncle has seen her…and he will surely be intrigued when he gets over his outrage. Gaelle is no longer here and I know he occupies himself elsewhere for the moment, but my uncle likes change and Cosima Niehaus has turned out to be a most attractive young woman. I must keep her away from him. When she apologises it comes off nervous yet sincere. I cut her off gently and I explain clearly how she must proceed onwards, she shall ring the bell and I shall join her.

I have requested that lunch be served to us both in my parlour. I am sure Mrs Jacquard nearly fell down in shock for I have never expressed a desire to keep company with my maid any more than I must. But I have vowed to keep this girl close, and so I shall. I have taken on the persona of a “friendlier Delphine” one that is not violent or callous. I wonder if I can manage it but I know I must try. I notice she is surprised too, and I cannot help but smile at her confusion, for I sense she doesn’t really have a clear idea of the proper decorum and is afraid to put a foot wrong. I decide to at least engage the girl in conversation although I am not much used to it and I fear I come off a little dry. I instead try to impress upon her how I look forward to having a friend, and I make a remark about Mrs Jacquard not inspiring conversation. I am very surprised when not only does she smile again, but she laughs! My body tenses and my brain does not quite know what to do. I don’t believe anyone has ever laughed, truly laughed at anything I have said.

I try and smile, but I am shaken. I need to keep her close, but I also must keep myself guarded and distant. I am not the naïve lonely girl she believes me to be…yet I must play the part, but not embrace my role.

 

 

***********

 

 

It is a dreary day and rain threatens. I need to follow up on my experiment, to check the cage before the river should rise and my quarry be drowned. I would usually depart for the afternoon myself and give Gaelle her leave, but I fear to let this girl, Cosima, from my presence. I am afraid what she might hear about me from the rest of the staff…I am afraid of what she might hear about my uncle, about how he treats me… about how interacts with the staff. We spread the rumour that Gaelle fell pregnant and though we didn’t name a father, my uncle’s liaisons are hardly a well-kept secret. I don’t need her knowing that this could be a problem for her, should my uncle notice her.

I sigh. While she is here she is playing the role of my maid and therefore she must do my bidding...I shall have her come with me and swear her to silence. As we go outside I am pleased to learn she smokes. Gaelle didn’t and it was a most dour affair to have her cough pointedly beside me whenever I felt the need to venture out for a cigarette. When we are done smoking I set of towards the water, and quite forget about the girl as I become overwhelmed with anticipation and anxiety as I approach the riverside.

I lean down in the mud and search through the reeds to see my little trap…and in it is a frog! I let out the breath I did not know I had been holding and exclaim happily to myself. I lift the dripping cage and straighten up in a hurry and am caught quite off guard when I turn and see the small girl staring at me as if I have three heads. My elation subsides somewhat but I decide to carry on with my business and ignore her. For this little one in the cage could be exactly what I have been waiting for. The girl trails after me and we enter the solarium. I am too excited in this moment to give her much thought, as I gently place the trap on the table and reach in eagerly to extract the frog. I pull it out and study it intently…it is large, this is a good sign…I turn it over gently and look at its dark brown throat and I feel my excitement build…I then tentatively extend the foreleg and see it had no hooked forefinger. “At last! A female!” I hear myself say…I have waited so long for this.

I had caught a male some time ago that lives happily in my little habitat and I had released several more males that I captured…but this was the first female to be caught! It’s exactly what I was waiting for and I am quite literally overjoyed, however I am taken by surprise as I see the girl, Cosima staring at me intently; I take in the bizarreness of my actions and feel like I should explain myself a little. I tell her rather hesitantly that I am experimenting and am taken aback as she eagerly steps forward a pace and asks me “What kind of experiment?”

Her eyes are lit up behind her glasses and she plays with her hands in anticipation. I am uncomfortable…yet piqued that she has shown an interest. I hesitate for a moment before blurting the words “I wish to observe the frog’s lifecycle.” I believe I sound a bit haughty but I feel strangely vulnerable in that moment.

She cocks her head and I elaborate, justifying myself, becoming aware of how foolish I must seem but my worries abate as one of those enormous smiles breaks slowly across her features. She looks rapt, and hangs on my every word. I blink in confusion…I do not know what to do as I see her stride forward to the tub, to the handmade habitat that I had so painstakingly made. She catches my bemused expression and immediately apologises…I come to myself and I remember I must swear her to secrecy. If my uncle were to find out, he would destroy everything and beat me senseless. I think she can feel my fear, I see her study me closely, her head cocked and I relax as she nods solemnly.

She smiles gently then and glances once more to the tub and asks a question I cannot help but be delighted to answer. “I will tell no one Miss Delphine. But I was wondering if you could perhaps tell me a little more about how you set all this up and where you heard about…what did you call it? The metamorphosis of frogs?”

I smile, genuinely this time and I begin, thinking to myself what harm could it do? I am playing the role of the kind and considerate Delphine, it could do no harm to gain her trust.  
I cannot help the thrill that runs through me as for the first time since Madame Bouquet in asylum, I can talk about the thing I love most; science.

 

************

 

The first day was a confusing one. I believed it would be easy to hate her and indeed, there was many a moment that first day to remind me she was playing a role. I caught her staring at me with a calculating look in her eye more than once, I watched her eat our lunch greedily, she thinks she is subtle but I observe her scrutinising the silverware, the heavy china plates, as if gauging how much they are worth. I see her look at my gown, and once, just once, she slips a hand over to lightly take the fabric between forefinger and thumb, pulling back with an impressed look on her face before forcing her face into a mask of neutrality once more.

Her first night as my maid I thought she should faint as she undressed me, a deep maroon as she hesitates on lowering my drawers. She keeps her distance and touches me minimally, as if scared my skin should burn her. I see her eyes quickly trace my body, widening and flicking away, and inevitably drawn back to the various bruises that mark it.

She is so small…and as she draws close to put on my robe I cannot help but indulge in a little torment to soothe my itching hands that tremble with the habit of reaching out and pinching or slapping when I am not dressed fast enough for my liking. I keep my patience…I restrain myself from my predilections. As I stand naked for what seems like an age I realise that she is waiting for me to lower my knees, and I raise an eyebrow and I allow myself to smirk. I don’t bend and she knows I shan’t.

I almost laugh aloud as I see her eyes narrow in determination as she draws minimally closer, pushes her glasses up onto her nose before, with a resolute expression, she _hops_ and half tosses the gown over my head. I cannot help it…a light laugh bursts from my chest and I bend my knees, letting her accomplish her task in ease. I try to sober myself and I tease her, asking about a mistress I know never existed “Cosima, your last Mistress…was she quite as small as you?” and her dry response evokes something I haven’t experienced in a long time…laughing at something someone has said. It slips from me and feels foreign, I cannot help but find the girl…funny. Her cheeky demeanour should set me on edge but perhaps it is because I am surrounded by stuffiness I find her freeness engaging. When the laughter dies I compose myself. I speak to myself firmly, angrily. I must not become fond of the girl, she is a liar and a cheat and here to betray me.

That very night she leaves me and I fall back into my pillows and huff. My mind is in turmoil but I find sleep drags at me for once, almost instantly. I suppose my sleepless night of the night before overcomes me…but I can feel it before I slip from consciousness entirely… it is a night for dreaming.

It is not the regular nightmare that accosts me that I have come to expect, unpleasant as it is. Instead I dream something new; something that I have never dreamed before and it is far worse than anything I have ever experienced. Within my realm of sleep I feel a visceral fear, it so vivid, and it feels so real and my heart hammers so hard I feel like I am dying.

I am woken by heavy hands holding me down, by soothing words in a language that is not my own. My eyes fly open and Cosima is on top of me, long dark hair tumbling over us like a curtain as she keeps me from flailing. She holds me fast until I have calmed and then she lifts herself from me and in the candlelight I see a livid scarlet cheek. My eyes widen in horror, I have struck her…she might think me mad, she might decide to leave after witnessing this, deciding I am too much trouble. I apologise and she plays it off nonchalantly but I can see she is disturbed. I suppose I am quite a sight; my body still shakes, I am covered in a cold and clammy sweat and my heart still stutters, reliving scenes from my dream again. After a few minutes I notice that she is tired, but I must smoke. I ask her to pass me my things and she watches in fascination as with shaking hands I load the pipe, light it and tug on it in relief. Seeing her interest I offer it to her…after all why not? It is something the “friendly Delphine” would do. She takes it and inhales far too deeply, coughing and spluttering but I find her presence calms me as much as the drug does. I smile and tell her not to pull so deeply, she does, and then once again. I see her eyes grow glassy and I deem she has had enough for a first time. I bid her goodnight rather unwillingly, still haunted by my terror.

I chew my lip in my bed as I watch her go, trying to suppress my mounting anxiety. The nightmare still clings to me, as my cold sweat does, and I cannot help but long for the comfort the tiny girl had brought me just moments ago. I cannot help it…by its own volition my mouth blurts it before I have had a chance to even reflect on the words. “Cosima? Do you think…would you mind…sleeping here? With me I mean. It really was the most terrible dream. And I fear I shall not sleep again.”

I flush as I am deeply embarrassed by my words, but also ashamed of the truth in them. I am so fearful, and though I know it is not real the knowledge doesn’t calm me. Cosima stops before her door and looks at me a moment before making up her mind and coming to slip into bed beside me. I have slept with nobody since I was a child in the Madhouse, when bad dreams would wake me. I feel strange having her here, but at the same time, I feel I need her here…I cannot bear to be alone tonight.

Cosima doesn’t speak but I find her presence so overwhelmingly soothing that I feel sleep tug at me once again when I am struck by a thought. I think of when she had woken me, the determined look in her eyes, her body above me, and I am piqued by the strange consonants that flooded from her mouth, mixed with English. I am intrigued and in my drug-addled state I let the question slip from me unguardedly “Cosima…were you speaking English?”

I regret the words as soon as I had spoken them. I must not let her believe I question her or her identity, I need to keep her thinking that I am oblivious to her duplicity. To my relief she seems to have drifted off into slumber and doesn’t answer. Calmed at last I feel the pull of sleep and I drift off and I am not plagued by dreams again that night.

 

***********

The next morning I stiffen as I feel a warm compact body pressed lose to mine. I open my eyes in a panic and I take her in, she looks like she is such a typically _nice_ girl…it is hard to believe that _she_ is the girl that has come here to ruin me. I gaze at her quite openly as she sleeps…she looks different without her glasses and I notice her eyelashes are thick, dark and impossibly long. I sigh, thinking that in several weeks this girl shall be tucked away behind the asylum gates, and I with her papers and my money will be free to go where I will. I don’t revel in the thought; rather, it makes me quite unhappy…as I look at her I am struck by how deceiving appearances can be. This girl, who looks as if butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth, has been chosen to con me and she has agreed. I know her every word is premeditated and laced with intent, her every move is set to corral me tighter as she herds me slowly but surely to the asylum gates. Her eyelashes flutter and I drop my gaze immediately, I am suddenly overwhelmed with embarrassment of my behaviour the night before and I apologise stiffly.

But as I watch as she reaches for her glasses and puts them on, my curiosity overcomes any awkwardness I had been feeling. I have never tried on a pair, or even held one…I am painfully curious and I have an overwhelming urge to try them on. Fond as I am of experiments I cannot resist the chance so I ask her if I can try them and she giggles as she passes them over to me. I place them tentatively on my nose and I immediately gasp when the room distorts and blurs, it is fascinating! I deduce she must have very poor eyesight because the distortion is prominent one. All throughout my little test she has been giggling but now she laughs in earnest and I feel my heart beat a little faster…I attribute it to nerves. I pass her back her spectacles, my curiosity having been sated and forget my silliness. We rise and prepare for the day.

I can see after we rise that she is surer of herself and more comfortable in my presence. Though she still blushes as she prepares me, there is no hesitance in her movements this time. She dresses my hair, taking great pleasure in teasing my curls into an elegant up-style. Despite myself, and the fact I know she is not what she seems to be, I find I am enjoying my morning and I am reluctant to leave her as the time nears for me to go to my uncle. I tell myself that it is simply because I do not trust her alone, I do not trust what she might do or hear around the Manor, but I think we both know that that was not the case. In spite of myself, and loathe I am to admit it, I enjoy the girl’s company. It is folly I know, but as a nine-teen year old woman who has lived ten years of boredom and misery it is quite thrilling to have a girl my own age, a girl who lives a life as intrigue as I do… a girl who is not what she seems to be about me. I know what she is here to do, and I find I am intrigued to witness how she means to do it, and this is the root of all the difficulties that shall follow; I am too interested in Cosima.

I know after that first night I shouldn’t allow myself to indulge in the comfort she brings me, but after she leaves me the next night I am immediately suffocated by dread. I feel my body reacting, I begin to shake and I curse myself for being so terrified of my own dreaming…but I know it will happen again tonight, I will dream it…the worst dream I have ever had. I feel myself beginning to shake and I look longingly to her door…I feel my body raise, quite of its own will, as I find myself padding softly to her room. I knock and open it gently, looking at the girl with her long hair let down and softly curling. Her glasses are removed and she smiles at me as I enter. The words leave before I know it “Cosima. Would you mind sleeping with me again tonight? I do not feel well.”

It is an excuse, I feel fine…apart from my fear that is. But she comes, and the next night it is the same…until I no longer to ask, until she comes to my bed of her own volition.

 

************

 

Before she had come I thought hating her would be easy…easy for the hateful person I am, knowing she means to cheat, to use and manipulate me. I know what she means to do, what her role is…a role that she is playing well. I know it is her goal to befriend me, to get close to me and to coax me into Felix’s arms and into the madhouse with the premeditation and precision of a wolf separating the weakest link from a herd. I know this, but somehow it is hard to _believe_ that that is what she is doing as she laughs, as she takes my arm, as she eagerly plagues me with questions and absorbs raptly my responses. I had thought that loathing her would be second nature, but she is so _alive,_ she is so _warm_ , so much so that even my cold heart has trouble despising her.

 

Over the next few days she applies herself to my _care_ and I am baffled, for she constantly assures that I am warm by throwing more coals on the fire and always having a shawl handy. She ensures that I eat well, even when I am most unwilling to do anything but smoke cigarettes and drink coffee. Cosima dresses me with attention and gentleness, taking her time and making adjustments to my gowns and hair at her own liberty. My mind knows that it is not for my own sake, but for that of Monsieur Delvinquiere but it has been so long since anyone ever took the time to address my wellbeing that I find myself responding to it. How could I not?

It is such a drastic change from Gaelle who dressed me quickly, with short, hesitant jerky movements, constantly expecting a blow that would surely come. I briefly wonder what it would have been like had I been kinder to the girl…but I throw the thought from me, it matters not now. It is so drastically different from the way anyone treats me at the manor, so different from the cold deference and avoidance of the servants, so far from the open disdain of Mrs Jacquard, so paradoxical from the covetous glances and lecherous gazes I must endure from my uncle’s guests, and the man himself. It is so far from the cruel enslavement of my uncle, who cares nothing for me but for the state of my hands and eyes, he cares nothing but for the fact his workhorse can keep ploughing…even if it’s on its last breath. It is hard to remember why she is here, but I do for I am reminded every now and then when I catch her gazing at me, which is often. When I catch her, she looks away quickly and a blush rises to her cheek and I imagine she is plotting what she shall do with my money, or reliving her conversations with Monsieur Delvinquiere. When I remember I am of course angry but then I am relieved. I cannot grow too comfortable with her because she means to betray me…but I _will_ betray her.

I keep telling myself this blunt truth; I keep telling myself that I will be stealing this girl’s life from her. It is not a happy thought I know, but I have no choice for it’s my only option…but it’s hard. It is hard because Cosima makes jokes….it sounds silly I know. I didn’t understand it much at first; in fact I did not even know she was joking. I am more used to the dry sardonic sarcasms of my uncle. One day, while with the frogs she looks at me and smiles, those slight dimples appear and I can see her tongue press against her teeth as she says “Miss Delphine…why did the tadpole feel lonely?” I stare at her quite openly…I look to the pool and back at her before asking tentatively “…what…?” And her smile erupts, extending to its maximum dominating her entire face before she splutters, “Because he was newt to the area!” I don’t understand and she looks at me like I have seven heads for not laughing…but then I realise, Cosima made a joke. A very bad joke…but the girl is _trying_ to make me laugh and I am titillated by the thought. I laugh a little late, and she smiles, leaning back and putting her hands behind her head as she chuckles to herself.

It is so pleasant to have someone to talk to, to share my interests with. I know this is not just a ploy to draw me in further, but I sense genuine curiosity from Cosima. I am surprised at how intelligent she is…at how _interested_ she is in the world around her. The girl asks me the oddest questions, ones that sometimes baffle me, yet compel me to come up with a theory or answer to the question. One day she asked me why frogs would develop such a risky and arduous growth process that takes when in all likeliness the tadpoles die or the spawn shall be eaten. Her question quite literally stumped me for a moment, I had to rethink back to what I had read about the development of different species as a whole before I could answer and when I did we debated the theory of their development all afternoon. Cosima wasn’t convinced by my response I was surprised when she mentioned an idea of her own, so well developed and thought through that I was thoroughly impressed. Cosima is unlike anyone I have ever met, she is intelligent, vibrant, caring, inquisitive and so thoroughly captivating. She also just happens to be my opposition, and my competition in the harsh game of survival of the fittest. I worry for a moment that I may have underestimated her, that I have overestimated myself. It is a frightening thought.

After a full week I know that I am playing reckless and loose with something I cannot yet put a name to. I know I should grow wary and put some distance between us, but there is something more addictive about her company than anything else…I cannot help but _like_ the person I am when I am with her. This “friendly Delphine” persona that was so trying to maintain in the beginning gives me some respite from myself…it is pleasant. With Cosima I am no longer the pitied strange niece of a scholar, I am not servant and minion to my uncle’s perversions, I am no longer a captive creature, an institutionalised animal that would never make it in the wild…but I am a young girl. It is dangerous.

 

 

************

 

 The time passes strangely quickly. Cosima has replaced Gaelle as my maid, but it is obvious Cosima has never maided before, and I sometimes wonder what the other staff must say about her. She doesn’t know this of course, she thinks she plays her role flawlessly but she is too relaxed, she is too free with herself in my company, too free in her mannerisms, the way she lounges. There are a hundred other indicators. It is also obvious she is of an inferior class from the way she sometimes speaks, but I never pick her up on it, for I like it actually…it makes a change from the enforced primness of my surroundings. Another thing that sets her apart is the way her hands are always moving, they are possessed with a life of their own. They fascinate me for as she explains something or tells a story they dance through the air, but I know a ladies maid would know that hands should remain folded neatly on the lap. Cosima also laughs openly, hard and loud and doesn’t cover her mouth when she does so, and I find I love it. I love her freeness; I love the sound of her laughter. She takes my arm as if we are friends, clasping it tightly and pulling me close…when she first does this I stiffen in rage at the invasion of my space, but I manage to restrain myself and to walk arm in arm with her back to the Manor. When she does it again, my reaction is not so severe, until it arrives at the point that I feel odd without her arm about me.

I know I have long passed the point of indifference to the girl, but I surprise myself when one night, after a particularly interesting conversation about Louis Pasteur, I am struck with an idea. Cosima’s favourite topic of discussion seemed to be evolution and I had explained the theories briefly more than once. I told her about Darwin and she was as involved with the frog experiment as much as I was. I ponder my idea for a while, carefully deciding if I really want to share one of my treasures with her. I am not used to sharing…and I think I won’t do it but as she waits for me to come to bed that night…I decide. I move and unlock my drawer and from it I bring my treasured copy of _**“The Origin of Species by Means of Natural Selection”**_ and when I tell her what it is, I see her eyes light up, and I know I have made the right decision. I read it to her, night after night and she listens with an avid and hungry expression, absorbing every word.

I may have introduced her to the idea of Darwin, but she for her part introduced me to much as well. Cosima was shocked to learn that I had never learned to play a single card game. When I told her this, her rich chestnut eyes widened in surprise and I am sure she was asking herself what kind of upbringing I must have had. If only she knew. Cosima taught me to play poker, which I loved and was pleased to see that I posed a challenge to the girl. A challenge indeed but it seemed to me that our games of poker represented the other game we were playing. Both were games of deception, bluffs and a game of stakes. As we played each other I sensed seriousness in our countenance, the tension mounting with each bet we laid.

Dark thoughts aside, there were some less sombre moments. Cosima also taught me how to dance, though I must admit that I was rather unwilling in the beginning. The petite brunette deemed it a horror and travesty that I should not even be aware of how to dance the most basic two-step, and badgered me about it until I finally acquiesced. With ill grace I yielded to her tugging and stood from the chair, when to my astonishment she started to hum a tune, rather nicely too. Then she grabbed my waist and pulled me close, so very close before leading me around, teaching me the steps, one by one. I had believed myself to have once possessed a heart, but I believed it long dead. I thought it would be dead forever but when she held me close I felt it flutter, and flicker weakly into life.

My breaking point came the day after our dance lesson. I was working as usual in the library with my uncle, it was almost twelve o’clock and I would only have an hour left. I had been doing well avoiding him and keeping my distance but this particular day he told me to retrieve his most prized book from the shelf; it is the rarest book he owns and by far the most expensive. He spent years and a small fortune to procure it. I was standing on a low stool, stretching to reach it for it was particularly high, and I felt, like a brand, his gaze upon me. My heart started to pound and I retrieved the book quickly and I turned to see my uncle perched on his desk, his predatory gaze upon me, his mouth set grimly…resolutely.

I glance behind me to my desk, desperately seeking the letter opener but I curse when I see it is not there. I feel the alarm rise and I know I need to get out. I keep the book in hand, it shall be my insurance… he would never let anything happen to it. I then grab a full inkbottle from the desk and unstopper it subtly, hiding it so he does not see. He knows that I know what is coming, and a grim smirk begins to play upon his lips. I glance to the door, I must pass his desk to access it. I shall have to try and leave with the book, I dare not put it down, for shall act as my shield, should it come to that. I make a run for it but I am not fast enough, his arm reaches out and grabs me, pulling my back flush against his front and I shriek. He holds me fast against him…I cannot hear what he is saying but I can feel his mouth on the back of my neck and I almost gag.

I struggle against him, I scream at him to stop but he ignores me. Gritting my teeth I drop the book to the floor and it falls open. My uncle looks to it in alarm but seeing it unscathed he does not release me, instead he holds me ever closer and I close my ears to the lecherous things he says. I think fast. I think about stomping on the book, but I am not sure it would have a drastic enough effect. I hold the ink bottle tight and I try to work out if I could somehow throw the ink into his eyes. I’m running out of time; I wriggle and one of his hands moves over my side, slipping lower. Then I am struck by an idea…I take a deep breath, I look down to the book, I stretch my arm as best I can and then I carefully empty the contents of the ink bottle all over it.

My uncle’s stops immediately and opens his eyes at the sound of the liquid splash. He looks at the book and gasps; his lips curl in a snarl, he turns to me and hits me with closed fist then pushes me away from him in one harsh movement. I stumble and an implacable _rage_ seizes me. If I had had a weapon, I would have killed him. Blood spurts from my nose as I scream “Beat me all you like, but I’ll never write another word for you or this filth! I’ll never read another text you _MONSTER_! Try to touch me again and I’ll burn them all!!! I swear…I’ll burn this whole place down!!! I’ll die trying, but I will _never_ let you attempt to lay a finger on me again. ”

I am hysterical and screeching from my place on the floor, and my eyes widen in horror as he drops his hands to his belt and undoes it slowly, resolutely. I try to crawl away but then to my utter _relief_ it is the belt he removes before approaching me, he lets his hand hang loose by his side, trailing the belt over the floor until he reaches me. I have never been so grateful to be beaten in my life, when the belt raises I know I am saved from what I thought was coming. I close my eyes and turn, thankful for the corset for it gives me a slight protection from his lashes, though I feel the skin break on my upper shoulders. A body has a threshold of pain that it can support before it shuts down, I felt each of the first twelve blows, but after that I became numb, delirious. I remember a vague notion of thinking my uncle means to kill me, as the belt lands again and again I lose count. In all my years here I have never been beaten so violently. But just when I am at the point of passing out he stops, he drops the bloody belt at his side and he bends, lifting the ruined book covered in ink and he positively keens over it. I lay on the floor a short distance away, sobbing, I don’t know when I started to cry but I cannot stop. He doesn’t look at me but he hisses…his voice trembling… “Get out. “ I don’t know where I gather the strength to move but fear and adrenaline course through me and I lift myself, I put my hand to my nose to staunch the bleeding and I leave, half falling to the door, barely conscious.

I cannot go upstairs…I cannot face Cosima like this; I cannot tell her what has just happened. I cannot tell her the fear I feel, the revulsion I felt as his hands were on me, roving over my flesh, and his filthy mouth at my neck. I will not go back yet, not until I have had a chance to process what has happened and can trust myself not to speak of it. I stumble to the garden and I vomit by the side of the house, then I make my way weakly to the solarium. I slip down onto the floor…and then I allow the pain its outlet. I gasp as the full scale of my injuries make themselves known. I feel each lash, and I feel every cell that screams in agony. I can taste blood and my hands are covered in it…my nose still bleeds profusely and I worry for a second that it is broken. A frog ribbits from somewhere to my left. I allow myself to cry, and I curse the man…not just for what he did, but also for leaving me with no choice but to die, or steal another’s life, because I cannot go on living like this.

 

************

 

 

When Cosima finds me I have been there for about half an hour. I am weak and trembling and in a desperate amount of pain. When she comes to me I can see the horror on her face and I try keeping the tears at bay. When she asks what he did to me I cannot bear to tell her the truth so instead I tell her that I spilled some ink…it is true enough after all. She helps me up and brings me back to the house where she so carefully and gently removes my clothes.

As she washes the blood from my face there is such gentleness in her touch, such care. When I raise my eyes to her I study her face; her brow is set in a frown, and her lips are tense as she studies the state of my nose closely in the candlelight. I am struck by just how lovely she is, her smooth skin and even features managing to appear endearing even as she frowns grimly. When our gazes meet and I look into her rich brown depths I find myself lost in them. I allow myself in that moment to revel in the softness of her touch, for her tenderness to be the balm to the trauma that happened me this afternoon. I can see the compassion in her eyes; there is no guile, no hint of deception, just her open concern and kindness. My shrivelled heart stutters once again.

 

When Cosima sees the welts and gashes on my back she gasps, and I can feel the anger radiate from her. She cleans them with softness and diligence, trying her best to not hurt me but I cannot stop the tears falling as the pain trembles and the flayed skin shrieks. Then she covers my back with a makeshift bandage and dresses me cautiously; I lower myself gratefully to the divan, smoking from my pipe, which numbs the pain slightly. I get a fright when a knock sounds at the door…I stiffen, fearing my uncle has sent for me, and I remain tense as Cosima moves to the door. It opens and I call out “What is it?” She doesn’t answer, instead she closes the door and in her hand is a folded letter. I know immediately whom it is from and my stomach drops like lead, for the time has come and it is to truly begin.

 

 

 


	13. If Only she Could Be So Oblivious Again, to Feel Such Love Without Knowing it, Mistaking it for Laughter.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With Monsieur Felix Delvinquiere's return to the manor, the plot is finally in full motion. However things are not as simple as they once seemed... how will Delphine deal with Felix,how will she deal with her ambiguous feelings towards the girl whose life she plans to claim as her own, the girl who has come to the manor to con her?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello dear friends :D I hope you enjoy the update (Its a long one) (Sorry for the slight delay) , as always this chapter wouldn't be possible without my dear Beta Mad_Scientist_88, who is the shizniz. :D
> 
> As always please feel free to leave a comment here or on tumblr   
> https://www.tumblr.com/blog/yetanothereireannach

**Chapter 13:**

 

 

My heart thunders as soon as I see the letter in her hands. Perhaps it is the pain or the drug addled state of my mind, but I almost snatch the letter from her fingers and I tear it open in a frenzy forgetting myself entirely. As I read the words the weight in my stomach grows heavier. I sense Cosima’s eyes upon me and I glance up quickly and see her standing tensely, watching me…waiting. Of course she is, I almost had forgotten that she has been awaiting the arrival as I had, but is perhaps more relieved at its arrival than I am. I try to speak lightly, ignoring the twitch of disjointed pain I feel in my chest “Monsieur Delvinquiere is due to arrive tomorrow evening. Can you believe it?”

Her eyes widen ever so slightly behind her glasses, but she pushes herself to keep her expression neutral and I feel my heart squeeze, and my stomach plummet ever further as she flutters about anxiously, so obviously affected by the news of Monsieur Delvinquiere’s arrival. I think to myself in despair; is she glad? Excited? Relieved? And then I come to the harsher realisation…why am I not? It is troubling to say the least.

I need to think, and so I bid Cosima to go down to the kitchen for dinner though she tries to convince me to let her dine with me in my parlour. I refuse and she leaves unhappily…I couldn’t eat if I tried, I have no appetite and need space, for my mind is in turmoil.

The harsh reality of Monsieur’s arrival has crept up on me like a shadow; forever present in the background, but rarely on the forefront of one’s mind and I see now that I have been less than diligent in my duties. I have let two weeks pass and have accomplished nothing but perhaps getting the girl to trust me, and while a step…it is not enough. Cosima is still almost as rough around the edges as she was when she arrived, and as much as I secretly admire this about her I know that if she is to pass for me later, she must also pass for a lady. It is my job to make her less coarse, to refine her, to subtly adjust her manners, but I have not. Deciding that I must apply myself to my task, I tell myself that the next day I shall begin in earnest. My mind wheels wildly, thinking of all I must accomplish before Monsieur Delvinquiere’s arrival, pushing away the nausea, fighting the panic and resolutely refusing the fleeting idea that crosses my mind; perhaps I am not as hard of heart as I once believed?

 

*************

 

 

I am not alone for long; perhaps thirty minutes later I hear her rushing back up the stairs, after evidently having wolfed down her dinner in a bid not to leave me unattended for an extended period of time. The first thing she does is walk to me, asking worriedly how I am before frowning at the state of my bandages. Despite my cold and calculating thoughts just minutes before, I find myself touched and warmed by the gesture. I puzzle for a moment, trying to decide if it is for mine or his sake that she cares for me so, but as she fawns and frets around me almost comically I push my doubts from my mind momentarily, though reality is never far away.

The letter means as much to Cosima as it does for me; only both of us are playing different roles. I know this, and remain aware that she awaits his arrival as I do, though in the dim light of the fire she seems unchanged, unmoved. Cosima is so wrapped up in nursing me that I cannot help but compare the paradox, for what a curious creature she is…to be able to agree to such a thing, but yet seem to care so deeply for her subject.

Her subject. Is that all I am? The thought sobers me, and reality once again encroaches on my hazy mind. Perhaps it is not for my sake at all…perhaps she minds me simply because she needs me healthy, she needs to keep me poised and ready, to gain my trust, for all the better to push me into Monsieur’s Delvinquiere’s arms. The thought upsets me more than it probably should…I know what she came here to do…I know I intend to do the same myself. I can hardly judge, and yet it makes my stomach churn.

I am lost in my sober thoughts for the rest of the evening, and Cosima for once is quiet herself. Eventually it grows late and we rise and ready ourselves for bed; a torture in itself for my pain grows steadily worse and any movement causes my wounds to shriek in protest. Smoking more would numb the agonising flesh but my head already spins from herbe already consumed, and I am afraid of losing control of myself…of my tongue. I hold out as long as I can, but as I settle myself onto the bed tears sting my eyes, and I know I shall never sleep otherwise. I ask Cosima to fetch me the apparatus again and we pass each other the pipe for several minutes, smoking in a companionable silence, before she puts it away and I lie on my side. I bite my lip at the sharp pain that slices through me before managing to find a passable position that might allow me to sleep. As I shift and wince, seeking any semblance of comfort, I can feel Cosima’s eyes on me, her own brow furrowed as she hears every hitch of my breath.

When she speaks her voice is low, soft and full of concern “Does this happen often, Miss?”

My breath catches and I hold it, appalled that she dares to ask. But then I remember Cosima is not completely versed in the boundaries that are posed between maid and mistress, and though shocked I am not angered. It is ironic that I think of boundaries, especially considering the fact that girl is in my bed, and sleeps beside me night after night. It is a strange situation…one that I am unaware of how to navigate. I suppose our situation, the simultaneous games we play throw propriety and boundaries to the wind…but this is dangerous.

The danger comes from the simple fact that I have never had a friend, at least not since Madame Bouquet, and certainly I have never had one my own age. With Cosima…being with her feels far too close to what I imagine having a friend would be like and that thought is both terrifying and titillating at the same time.

I believe I pause for some time and I consider not answering at all but feel compelled to do so, despite the certainty of it being a reckless thing to do. I tell myself this, and yet cannot seem to help myself…I blame the drug and the trauma of the day for leaving me vulnerable, my inhibitions are lowered and I feel raw, too raw. My mouth opens to speak as if controlled by someone else and for once in my life address what I have never spoken of, to anyone, I tell her about the cruelty I receive at the hand of my uncle, his roving and lascivious eye…but when she asks me if he has ever tried to force himself upon me, I lie. I cannot tell her the truth, it cuts too close to the core of the reason why I am willing to deceive her, and it cuts too deep into the hurt and dread I feel for I am barely willing to acknowledge it myself, that that man… my uncle…actually attempted to rape me.

After, I feel her small warm hand slide across the sheet covering us and clasp my own, and it is as if a jolt of electricity has been shot through me straight to my heart, causing it to pulse and beat and come fully back to life, no longer grey and shrivelled, but full and blooming into existence. To my surprise I feel the tears fall fast and free and my eyes close of their own volition, lulled by the steady thrumming of the rejuvenated muscle in my chest.

 

***********

 

 

 

 The next day I wake frightfully early, hand in hand with my dubious maid. My mind struggles to wake and I piece together the event of the day before and I shudder. Then with a jolt I remember what I _shared_ and feel foolish for now, in the clear light of day, it is obvious that I am falling right into the trap she lays at my feet. Cosima sleeps soundly on, her brows furrowed slightly and her lips in a pout as she steadily inhales and exhales little puffs of air. I move my gaze from her face and stare down at our linked hands, and as I do so, become conscious of the thriving beating of a heart I thought had been long dead…and I am horrified. This cannot be, it simply cannot. I cannot allow myself to feel any sort of sentiment for the woman who plans to cheat me, I cannot allow myself to grow fond of the woman that I shall in turn ruthlessly cheat, the woman’s whose life I must steal. This is a disaster.

My brow contracts and I chew my lip as I again allow my gaze to drift over her peaceful features in the dim light. While I do so segments of our conversation filter back into my consciousness and I find I am quite happy that I chose to warn Cosima about my uncle. The man has seen her and Cosima is beautiful…much more beautiful than Gaelle and I dare say he is feeling her absence. She would fall prey to him quickly, and if she refuses to succumb to his advances my uncle would not hesitate to use blackmail or coercion. I know well that Cosima cannot afford to leave or be sent from the Manor, and would be without many options and I cannot for my part, afford to have her sent away should she refuse. It is a precarious situation, and while I know the girl is false I do not want, nor would I wish on anyone, my uncle’s lecherous advances. Now she knows the risks, hopefully she will be on her guard and I’ll endeavour to keep her away…far away from him and any chance he might have to interfere with her.

One unpleasant thought and obligation follows another and I remember that Monsieur Delvinquiere shall be back today…I must seem like I have made progress. Heaving a miserable sigh I roll onto my stomach, prop myself up on my elbows and I take a tress of her silky hair with my thumb and forefinger. Cosima sleeps on oblivious as I wrack my brain for a solution to my predicament. As I caress the softness of her hair I am struck with an idea and my body stiffens. This could work…it could buy me time and hide my negligence. I drop my head to my hands and try to breathe while my mind formulates my plan in its entirety.

I am interrupted from my train of thought when Cosima makes an unhappy little sound and stirs slightly, drawing closer to me. Automatically I extend a hand to soothe her and she immediately relaxes, her frown clears and she drifts back into a comfortable slumber. A smile graces my cheeks of its own accord and I feel that strange quivering in my chest again, infused with something alarmingly close to remorse.

This will not do…resigning myself I capture this unwelcome heart, pin it down, and force it into a box that I will close with all my determination. I look again to Cosima and sigh, I lower myself beside the sleeping girl, and I sleep again.

 

 

**********

 

 

We wake simultaneously and as she moves I feel it again, the addictive heat of her hand clasped in my own. This causes my eyes to fly open in an instant for much to my consternation I must have reached out for it in my sleep. This will not do at all. Withdrawing my hand rather abruptly, Cosima turns to look at me, shooting me a quick sleepy smile that tugs at that sealed box in my mind in the most alarming way.

Space…I need to put some space between us. In my panic I forget my injuries momentarily but as I attempt to sit up, the state of my back makes itself known. I cry out, pain envelopes me like a cloud and my eyes water. Despite my desperate plea for space a moment ago, I find I cannot raise myself without the other girls help. Cosima carefully extends an arm and I accept it gratefully before I swing my legs over the side and stand slowly, almost faltering as I try to stand up straight.

The tiny brunette never falters, despite the fact I urge her I am fine, she doesn’t leave my side and as I stumble she catches me before sitting me down and scolding me firmly for my stubbornness…she is an amusing creature. Any mirth I have is short lived because Cosima then begins the lengthy and painful process of getting me dressed. While she prepares me I will myself to put the plan I formulated this morning into action. I look up at her and take a deep breath “Cosima…what will you wear today? Monsieur Delvinquiere is coming today and we must look our best.” I can see her surprise, and expected it…I know she has but one dress. Cosima follows my lead seamlessly though she doesn’t know it, as I pretend to be a kind yet rather frivolous girl, pressing a gown upon her like it is of little importance.

 

Ignoring her protests I stand and move to the armoire. I begin digging through the various dresses, looking for one in particular, a beautiful one that I have never worn. As I lay in bed this morning, before the plan was fully formed, the image of her in this gown leaped at me and I know that this is the one I shall give her, that this is the one she must wear. I smile when I find the deep plum gown of a beautiful satin blend fabric. The colour is exquisite and I hand it to her.

To my surprise she refuses to accept the dress quite solidly at first, and looks embarrassed. I find myself thinking, “how ironic it is that you have come here to take all I have, yet you shy from taking a simple frock.” The thought hardens me, and I try to hide it, fighting to keep my voice pleasant. “Please Cosima. I insist. Besides…the colour would be magnificent on you. I am too pale for such a shade I think. Come here, let me help you dress.”

I give her no room for argument. Pulling her to me, quickly I make short work of removing her dress. It is only when I have removed it entirely that I realise…I am undressing Cosima. The thought gives me a strange sensation in my stomach and a peculiar heat passes through me, one that I am at a loss to identify. Shuddering at the new sensation I battle to focus on the matter at hand. She is so slim; I cannot help but comment on how slight she is in her petticoats. Cosima blushes, clearly both uncomfortable and bemused by our brief reversal in roles. I dress her in the gown quickly and pull at it determinedly. It gapes at the back, but tightening the corset can easily solve that. I tug insistently and finally it yields to her size. When I rotate her I am, to my utter surprise, faced with a chest I had not realised was quite so generous. I glance down, eyebrows raised and my eyes fix, the corner of my mouth tugs into a smile. The strange heat I feel burns hotter and I jump when I realise Cosima is staring at me, puce in the face. Raising my eyes to an appropriate level I try to feign nonchalance and to pass off my overt staring, uttering a cocky “Well, aren't you lucky." I grasp the top of the bustier firmly, and much to her astonishment and displeasure I tug. Cosima grunts as I pull her, the corset no doubt gripping her tightly but I do not cease, I keep my eyes trained on hers, avoiding looking down to the heaving breasts that vie for my attention, trying to render the dress a bit more modest, all the while trying to banish the bizarre warmth that has captured my limbs.

At last my mission is at least partially accomplished, though her chest makes it impossible to completely cover her, she is not as exposed as she was. Finally having her fully dressed, I stand back to inspect my handiwork. My eyes rake her body from head to toe where they linger; and then I feel a burst of laughter bubble up and escape my chest in booming heaves. My impromptu laughter is due to Cosima’s short stature (she is a full head shorter than I) and dressed in my gown there is almost a yard of bunched material at her feet, causing me to sputter in laughter. Cosima looks quite adorably for a moment, like a child playing dress up.

Cosima frowns in confusion at my laughter, her eyes follow my gaze and when she realises what has me giggling her head whips back up and she frowns harder still, before eventually a smile breaks out upon her own lovely face, and she lightly chuckles along with me.

As her eyes crinkle and push her glasses up on her nose something squeezes tightly in my chest, causing me to abruptly cease my reveries and panic. I have a sneaking suspicion that the heart I had so carefully shut away earlier is trying to make an escape. I need a distraction and so I decide to rectify the length of the dress; I move to the table and take a needle and thread. When Cosima sees what I mean to do, she protests, she tells me she shall do it herself, she worries for my back but I insist; I want to. I lower myself slowly to my knees, my back burns as I move but I ignore it. Making quick work of the alterations, my years of tedious needlework as a child come at last to some use, I apply myself to the matter at hand. I feel myself calmed, and once again in control over my emotions. I stand to look at her, and I take her in in all her glory.

Cosima stands quite awkwardly in her new dress, as if she feels she is not worthy for it, but the dress now fits her like a glove, as if it was made for her. Her dark mahogany hair that is so long and shines so brightly looks richer than ever against the gown as it cascades over her shoulders and down her back, ending in soft curls at her waist. The colour of the plum complements Cosima’s skin; where my skin is ivory, Cosima’s skin is golden and the tone of it makes the purple almost sing. The cut of the dress yields to her body in a way the Bordeaux one does not; in this dress every dip and curve of Cosima’s body is accentuated, her bust is full, and it gives the dress a rather seductive appeal without appearing immodest.

One of her powerful smiles lights up her face as she observes herself in the mirror. I watch, instantly breathless as her shy and slight dimple makes its appearance. Her eyes meet mine and I do not know what I am doing. or what I mean to say, as my body moves forward as if in a trance. Sharply, a knock shocks me from my stupor and I look away, blinking rapidly while drawing a deep breath trying to get control of myself. Cosima moves to the door to open it, and I try to contain the roiling butterflies that are suddenly loose in my belly, swarming, swooping and fluttering so. I feel strange and it makes me worry, I feel things I have not experienced before and I do not understand what is happening or why. Lost in my thoughts, trying to comprehend what it is that is taking hold of me, I don’t immediately notice that Cosima still stands at the door. She doesn’t speak, she doesn’t move and so I pace forward to see what is the problem. And then I see him…Monsieur Delvinquiere has returned.

 

***********

 

 

 

I no doubt should have expecting him, I was after all preparing Cosima for his arrival, but his appearance nonetheless catches me unaware, leaving me feeling foolish and transparent. I worry the man will see how far I am from where I need to be, to do what we must do. That he will sense how much less resolute I am since we first made our treacherous pact. Swallowing my panic I raise a smile to my lips, move forward and invite him in, glancing at Cosima who remains in her daze. I greet Monsieur Delvinquiere, my partner in this dastardly scheme and later the man who shall briefly become my husband, until I shed Delphine Cormier’s skin like a snake and I become Cosima Niehaus. I try to appear as I should be; happy that my freedom approaches, happy that I shall no longer be the cursed bastard I was born to be. I try to appear happy as I should be; happy to see him.

Though I smile I doubt it reaches my eyes, and I think he sees the emptiness behind my gaze because his dark eyes narrow as he asks me, his tone light yet laced with innuendo “Mademoiselle Cormier, it has been such a while. I trust you are well? Tell me…have you been keeping up with your lessons?”

My lessons…I know what he means of course, he means have I been playing my role, setting things in place and of course…sticking to our plan. I feel myself blush and his eyebrows draw into a slight frown as he observes my discomfort. Willing myself into action I speak, I cannot have him think me weak and so I lift my chin, stand tall and smile, tossing my head ever so slightly as I say “Indeed, Monsieur Delvinquiere, I have been very well thank you. And…ahem. I have indeed been keeping up with my lessons. I have not forgotten what you taught me.” He smiles then, reassured a devilish glint dances in his eye and I see him glance to Cosima. He takes in the gown, her posture, which indeed has grown a little straighter since her arrival, and I see him nod ever so slightly toward me in approval.

 

 

************

 

 

That evening we dine with my uncle, it is the first time I have seen him since he tried to force himself of me and I am filled with trepidation. Monsieur Leekie greets Monsieur Delvinquiere with enthusiasm and invites him to the table. When he sees me his lips tighten slightly, his eyes narrow, and his displeasure radiates from him. I am rather thrilled that he is so displeased to see me, though he dare not send me away; as lady of the house decorum states that I must be here for Monsieur Delvinquiere’s return dinner. In a way, I am much relieved Monsieur Delvinquiere’s returned, for I shall not have much cause in the future to be alone with my uncle…in a way the man is my shield, while he is here, at least. However, I know (our plans aside) as soon as the man’s work is done, as far as my uncle is concerned, he believes I am at his mercy. He is a patient man after all…a few weeks is nothing to him. I meet his gaze once, across the table and it says it all; they are narrowed menacingly, a lewd grin pulls at the corner of his mouth and yes I can almost hear him hiss the words “This isn’t over” as his tongue darts out to moisten his non-existent lips.

Shuddering deeply I tell myself firmly that despite what he thinks, by the time Monsieur Delvinquiere leaves, I shall be ready for my own departure, and in the meantime I plan on finding a way to _thank_ my uncle for his hospitality before I leave. As we dine the men keep up conversation while I nibble in silence, I have no appetite and feel queasy at the sight of the bloody meat on the whiteness of the plate. I find myself transfixed, staring at the gruesome sight, cringing when I hear one of the men cough pointedly.

I lift my head and Monsieur Delvinquiere catches my eye; I do not like the look that dances in his dark depths….it is mischievous.

He wipes his mouth with his serviette and turns to me, saying in a light tone “How do you find your new maid Mademoiselle Cormier?”

I almost drop my glass in shock at the recklessness of his question. My uncle turns to me, intrigued and I answer quickly…too quickly “She is very… satisfactory, Monsieur Delvinquiere. She is doing very well indeed.”

I implore him with my eyes to abandon his wild teasing, but he smiles clearly amused “I am glad I was able to be of service. As I said she worked in my house for a time…I was close to her mother. She seems a nice girl.”

If he were close enough to me, I would kick him.

My voice is low and my tone no longer imploring, but rather stilted with poorly contained ire “Yes Sir, thank you, and she is indeed very nice.”

My uncle looks between us, eyes narrowed as he directs his question sharply to Monsieur Delvinquiere, and his gaze settles on me as he awaits the response; a dangerous expression crossing his features “You personally recommended the new girl Monsieur Delvinquiere, the small, dark one? Delphine didn’t tell me that.”

Monsieur Delvinquiere sobers, the gleam is gone from his eye, and I believe he recognises his mistake in that instant. “Yes, Sir. I heard her mention after the unfortunate dismissal of her last maid that she was in need of a new one. I happened to know that Miss Fournier, the dark girl you may have seen, was available and so I suggested it in passing, Sir.”

My uncle looks to me and his gaze relaxes slightly muttering “Hmmmm…indeed” but seeing his narrowed eyes and his wary look I have no doubt my uncle shall pay more attention to any interaction between Monsieur Delvinquiere and I, which is the last thing we need. I curse the man and his stupidity. Monsieur Leekie thinks a moment, evidently deciding to let the matter drop before he looks at Monsieur Delvinquiere, a lewd smile crossing his face as he says “She is an attractive little thing isn’t she, Monsieur Delvinquiere? A sharply little thing too, for a girl of her size.”

I see Felix’s eyes widen in surprise before he responds hesitantly, “I haven’t much noticed before Sir, but I suppose so.”

My uncle smiles again and seems to disappear into his own thoughts about Cosima, and I find myself irrationally angry. I know the sorts of things he must be thinking about her and I fume…I shouldn’t care, for she is nothing to me, nothing real anyway. I am frowning to myself when Felix, taking advantage of the momentary silence, clears his throat and asks me as if without care “Mademoiselle Cormier, now that I am returned are we to begin again our lessons? I dare say that my absence has impacted your training. It would do no harm to begin again, but perhaps with more vigour, to have more rapid results.”

My uncle is listening, I can see he watches me and I find myself unable to speak. Monsieur Delvinquiere raises an eyebrow at my silence and prompts again “I could come tomorrow afternoon, at the usual time? I must say I was pleased with our progress before I had left. It would be a shame to let it go to waste.”

He looks at me sternly, but I refuse to meet his eye…I will myself to nod, to acquiesce, but I am unable to move, unable to utter the words. Suddenly my uncle cuts in “Indeed, I am not yet completely satisfied with her hand, though I must admit, it is improved. I wish her to continue, and so she shall. She will come to you tomorrow Monsieur Delvinquiere.”

“Very well, Sir.” When the younger man looks at me, he raises an eyebrow in a silent question, a question I don’t care to acknowledge, and a question I don’t have an answer for. He pauses before turning to my uncle and speaking, though he still addresses the old man, I know his words are for me “I dare say a few weeks should be enough to accomplish the goal Sir, at most four, but I can guarantee that it shall not take longer than that.”

I speak, my voice coming out louder than I intend. “Are you certain that would be enough, Sir?” My words come out desperate, even to my own ears and Monsieur Delvinquiere twitches in displeasure.

I blush at my outburst, I am being utterly ridiculous; how easy it should be! How I have longed for this day to come, how I have longed for freedom all these years! How hard I have gazed at the walls of my uncle's estate, wishing that they might part and release me! But now that the day of our escape is close, I hesitate; and am afraid to say why. I sit through the rest of the stilted dinner in silence, trying to make sense of my thoughts, sense of myself.

To my great relief after dinner Monsieur Delvinquiere does not have the chance to engage me further, though I don’t doubt that he would have liked to. I can see the concern about my commitment lurking in his dark eyes, written in the slight crease between his brows, and when I am dismissed directly after the meal, I can almost hear him internally screaming in frustration. When I go, I do so with palpable relief, I am being overrun with panic, with doubt.

 

***********

 

 

I mount the stairs; the small amount of food I managed to swallow threatens to make reappearance. One month…that is all that remains. One month before my marriage, one month before the end of the plot…and what? Five weeks before Cosima claims my place in the world and I hers. It is approaching with the inevitability of death, and time runs as water does but…perhaps it is for the best. I doubt my ability to remain eternally far removed from the lively bundle that is Cosima, fraud or not, and I reason that if I cannot control and master my feelings perhaps to get it over with all the sooner shall be for the better.

With that thought on the creaking staircase I pause and I steel myself and think logically. Deciding to approach my wavering resolve like a mason would approach repairing a weakening wall, I reason that if I want to reinforce it surely, thoroughly, that I must begin at the foundations.

I take a moment to reflect on why _she_ is here, willing myself to stop this ridiculous guilt that is trying to take seed inside of me. I am no worse than she is, for she means to do the same to me. I reflect on what led me to agree to such a desperate and dastardly plot; my uncle, his abuse…his threats. I think of the life I have lead, the freedom I have never known and always been denied. Again I think back to weeks ago, before Cosima’s arrival, imagining the image of myself as an old woman surrounded by a building tower of books, books that fall and bury me, books that suffocate me.

 

For once I urge myself to think of what I shall do when I am free, for honestly I have not thought much beyond our escape. Closing my eyes and imagining as hard as I can, I tell myself that perhaps I shall leave France, and travel…that I shall go to Belgium or England. Somewhere no one knows me, somewhere I can begin my life anew. I want it, I need it, and I yearn for it with every fibre of my being. It is in my grasp, impossibly, at last… finally feeling my foundations are assured I tell myself resolutely that I cannot let this chance pass me by; and as I do Darwin’s words strike me as hard as a hammer ““A man who dares to waste one hour of time has not discovered the value of life”. The last nineteen years of my life have not been my own, I’ve witnessed time trickle by like a fine sand between my fingers, unable to hold onto it, unable to grasp it and claim it as my own. Enough; it is time to for me to seize my freedom.

Finally calmed and my mental foundations concrete I set myself to shoring up my metaphorical wall within my mind. I must make Cosima think that she is succeeding in her task and in her role, succeeding in aiding Monsieur’s seduction, succeeding in luring my from my shelter into the open, where she and Felix lie ready to strike. I must make Cosima believe her actions are working, make her believe I love the man. It shall be a challenge for truthfully I have no idea how to go about it. Again I catch myself and chastise fiercely; this part is supposed to be the easy part, to play the love struck damsel. It shouldn’t be so difficult, after all I have read about it often enough. Biting my lip, I look up the staircase, to the landing where Cosima awaits…I shall apply myself to it, I shall stamp out this unwillingness that I feel as I once stamped out any hope I felt as a child. I’ll erase any fondness for the girl as I once erased any sentiment I felt for the nurses and women of the asylum. I will banish this foreign sentimental fool that has taken hold of my mind and body just as I once eradicated the ghost of the child in me when I arrived of the Manor.

 

***********

 

 

 

After Monsieur Delvinquiere returned to the Manor, or Felix I suppose I should get used to calling him now, nothing much changed. I am baffled as the days take on the same steady rhythm that they did when I first agreed to our “arrangement” (the marriage to Monsieur Delvinquiere of course) before Gaelle’s departure, and before Cosima’s arrival. There is but one difference; where I once walked alone, Cosima is by my side.

Everything else passes as it did, Felix plays his role of the gallant gentleman, and he still draws himself close and murmurs suggestively in my ear. I know Cosima watches, I can see her sometimes, when I catch her reflection in the window or when I turn too quickly, causing her to furtively look away, avoiding my eye. The girl is rapt on our every move and though she tries to hide it I sense her straining her ears to hear what we murmur, not that she would…we are cautious; as cautious as young lovers would be under the circumstances. Turning to look at her, she meets my gaze without shame, training her face into a neutral mask but once or perhaps twice, I see her link eyes with Felix. Her face so imperceptibly changes and I see understanding flow between them…well what she thinks is understanding. It irritates me that she should think me so oblivious, so blind…it is ironic, truly for Felix is playing her as she thinks he is playing me, and the poor little margaute hasn’t got a clue.

It seems grotesque really, that it is such a farce, and while she thinks me being played it is she that is the butt of the joke. When she sees Felix mock me she doesn’t realise for a second that it is her that is the source of his contempt. She doesn’t suspect for a second that when he trades her a wink or a sly smile that the moment he turns from her to me he rolls his eyes and shrugs ever so slightly.

Felix seems to have no trouble with the task at hand, he seems to enjoy it actually… revelling in the intrigue, the two-faces that he must dance between, he plays his part most diligently, and I try my best to play mine. However I soon find that I am not the type of girl to fawn or swoon, and I cannot pretend to be so. Instead I try to submit to his caresses, to his touches, willing myself to give some sort of affectionate move in response but I am too aware of her gaze on me, too aware of her presence and I find myself stiffening unconsciously, or blushing, and shudder or squirm as he draws close to me. I worry in the beginning that I am not forward enough, but after reflection I decide my reactions are much more fitting to the person Cosima knows me to be. I would say she would be more surprised if I were to start suddenly throwing myself at him.

Felix however is not so easily fooled, he knows my stiffness for what it is, he knows it as fear…he knows it as weakness. Whenever he sees me twitch or tremble he will give me a hard look and pull me ever closer, whispering harshly for me to get myself together. And I try, I really do but the more he holds me, the more the image of my uncle’s hands on me flash to mind, the more I recoil, the more I seethe, and the closer the time draws near, the worse it becomes.

One day I am particularly difficult, I cannot bear the heat of his breath, and though not sour, it makes my nose wrinkle in distaste. I cannot bear the thrum of his flesh as he leans against me, I cannot submit to the clammy grip of his hand as he steadies my pencil, drawing wayward lines on the card in front of me. He accepts every rebuff with a demeanour that grows sourer by the minute, he huffs in frustration and says “Delphine, I fear you are growing lax in your work, your grip grows soft once more on your pencil. This is very unsatisfactory… before my departure you had made excellent progress and I find I have returned to be… disappointed.”

He lets the words hang in the air between us and I glance to Cosima, she keeps her head down but I can tell by the set of her shoulders that she listens intently. For a moment I am distracted by her, her tense body, her resolute gaze on her lap. I see her so clearly _waiting_ for what comes next and I clench my teeth in displeasure. Returning my gaze to Felix, I accept his scornful words for he is right…I am growing lax. I need to reassure him that I am still in this, that I am still trying despite all appearances otherwise. Taking deep breath before glancing once again to the brunette, I mutter “I am sorry to disappoint you Monsieur Delvinquiere, I believe you are right. I have grown lax in my grip but I assure you that I shall apply myself with rigour from here on out, Sir.”

When he leaves, his frustration still hanging palpable in the air, I am distressed. I stare down at my terrible drawing and I sigh, for all this intrigue is much harder than I ever imagined it would be. Cosima draws to my side and studies me a moment before dropping her gaze to the scene I have been working on. It is a farmhouse but lacking any artistic talent, it could be anything. Cosima studies it intently for a moment before nodding her head decisively, and meeting my questioning regard, she says, her tone light and consolatory “Don’t listen to him Miss, he is in a foul mood today it seems. This really isn’t too bad but the problem is that you aren’t getting the knack for shading…look, try diagonal lines.”

Plucking the pencil from my grasp and ignoring the bemused expression from my face she leans and sketches quickly and the transformation is immediate. Of course, she just thinks Felix is critiquing the drawing, she thinks something as frivolous as him being unhappy with my artwork could have me so upset. Is she happy that I care so much?

I study her a moment mulling over this thought when I am immediately seized by her open face, her wide smile as she moves to me, bending over the card with a pencil in hand, she is after all quite the artist herself. Cosima has sketched the frogs, frogspawn and tadpoles so well it seems like they are ready to leap off the page. When she holds the pencil to me expectantly, I hesitate, eyes still fixated on that wide smile and she says “Here, let’s try together” before sitting beside me and shows me stroke for stroke how to shade in my drawing. I cannot remain removed, I cannot remain untouched by the sweet easiness of the girl.

The heart I have so studiously tried to ignore, the heart that I have boxed away so carefully beats loudly from within its bindings, so loud I can hear it pounding in my ears. I peek at her and I see her concentrating intently, her tongue poking from between her teeth, and it is like something physically melts inside me. I notice a tendril of her long hair has escaped from its binding, tumbling into her line of vision and I am seized with a desire, a _need_ to tuck it away behind what I notice now to be, a perfectly sculpted ear. Eyes widening in fear I return my eyes to my drawing, the image swimming before me as I stare unblinkingly down at it. I cannot allow myself to think like this, I cannot allow myself to feel like this. I take a deep breath and apply myself to the task at hand, solidly ignoring the enrapturing woman beside me.

 

 

 *************

 

Time passes too fast, but not fast enough for Felix. Since that day in the parlour he has changed towards me…he is harsher, more impatient…he is scornful and resentful. I never liked the man but now I begin to openly loathe him.

Almost a week later he declares the time has come that I apply myself to landscape. He says it is a wonderful day for walking, and though reluctant, I do not protest. I am no fool, I know Felix has motives for getting me outside, I think perhaps he wishes to have an opportunity to discuss things with me, and I know he has not been happy with my performance. Away from the manor Cosima will be our only inconvenience, but she is easily dealt with, and this is as good for her as it is for us. It will make her believe we wish to spend time together, it is her job to make sure that we do…of course she would be delighted to see him lead me from the house, arm in arm as she wills me to fall into them.

And so we set off, Cosima carting our things, Felix looking dapper in his long coat and I, filled with apprehension, deplore the man’s company. Not that Felix would notice, or care…as we set off into the surprisingly fair weather he seems in full form. I begin to relax, not tensing too much as he takes my arm and we begin our walk. As we walk side by side while Cosima trails behind, the weight of his arm presses upon me and I try to subtly put some distance between us, to create some space but he smiles down at me, dangerously kind and says lightly “We are on a lovers walk…we must seem to be lovers. Bear it just a while longer, we are almost there.”

I raise an eyebrow at him and walk solidly on but it is unseasonably warm and he presses me tight, only causing me to become hotter and more uncomfortable. After twenty minutes or so I grow peevish “Monsieur Delvinquiere is there any particular reason we are doing _this_?” I gesture to our linked arms. “She knows you don’t love me, and though abhorrent I plan to follow through with what we planned. Do we have to make such a song and dance about it?”

He sighs, his jolly humour seems to deflate a tad as he says “Look at it from her perspective, she believes she must help me seduce you away from the house. It would seem odd if the cold fish that you are,” - I stiffen at the insult but he ploughs on mercilessly - “agrees to run away and marry me without any sort of fondness on either of our parts. If that were the cause I wouldn’t have needed her at all, and she would know it. It would make her question things and you know she isn’t stupid. So just try and loosen up for once.”

I glare at him, and scowl before saying “I am no fool Felix, I can see you enjoy irritating me.”

His eyes narrow, he raises a hand to brush his dark hair from his eyes and says lowly “Perhaps I do, but maybe it is only because you make it so easy. Worry not, the moment we marry I can say any interest to torment you or otherwise will abate quickly. I too will no doubt long for the day we collect our money and we may go our separate ways, because I won’t lie…you are more of a trial then I thought you would be. You are not the only one who has a lack of fondness in this relationship Delphine.”

I stare at him and he reddens, I remain impassive though his visage betrays a whirlwind of emotion. Eventually he seems to regret his words muttering, “Come now Delphine, I apologise. I do not mean that quite as harshly as I said it.”

I say nothing; I turn from him and free my arm with a sharp tug. I am not offended, just irritated. However it is something to know he doesn’t like me, it is familiar, comfortable and welcome after having lived my life among those who are disdainful of me. I glance over my shoulder and sarcastically quip “Well…Felix, I am so, _so_ sorry to disappoint you. And here I thought we were going to be the best of friends…but I find now you have dashed all hope for me.”

I move away, smirking but he follows quickly hissing nervously at me, glancing to Cosima who has obviously purposefully fallen behind “I admit, I am disappointed! I thought we would get along you and me, but I find you changed since I have come back. You are more nervous about things than before…you make things more difficult then it needs be, why is it taking so long? Why are we waiting still? All is set in place; I have taken residence for us in Paris, arranged all with the asylum. Why do we hesitate?

My cocky grin fades and I am sans a response. I do not know why I hesitate so; I do not know why I grow more fearful as each day passes. Felix senses my turmoil and asks me plainly “Delphine, I hope you are not having second thoughts.”

Panicking I try to process the storm of emotions I feel. Is that is what is wrong with me? Am I having second thoughts? Dismissing it immediately I decide I cannot be, for I truly _cannot_ …this is my only option, my only chance at freedom and like it or not I am bound to follow through with it. I cannot, and I will not falter. He watches me, his intent expression starting to take on something sinister while I struggle for words.

Heaving a sigh, I settle upon what I consider to be close enough to the truth to sate him, and far enough from it that I do not have to face it. “No Felix. It is just, I dislike what we mean to do…but I still will do it. I must. I need to get out of here.”

He nods slowly, he has seen enough in the library to get an idea of what I mean for my uncle doesn’t shy from slapping me if unhappy…even in front of guests. Narrowing his eyes he says, “I’d like to believe you, but your recent behaviour has given me doubts about your commitment. Delphine, I didn’t want it to come to this…but remember we made a deal. If you cross me I shall make you pay dearly for it. Suppose I should tell your uncle about our late night rendezvous? That I came to your rooms, and you accepted me, in the middle of the night, alone.”

I stiffen; I am immediately indignant, and secondly fearful “How dare you threaten me so! Nothing happened!”

Felix glances again behind him, to where Cosima has ceased to make her advance, instead she seems to be pretending to organise our materials, and in that moment I curse her for leaving me with him, even though I know she would never do anything else. This is what she wants.

Felix has the good grace to look at least slightly shamefaced before he continues. I observe him with my arms crossed and bite my lip. However he continues on, and with every word he speaks he gains a little more conviction “Of course nothing happened, but will he believe that? The man who guards you so closely. Do not think I haven’t observed his fascination with you. How would he feel if he believed I have claimed that fascination for my own, claimed _you_ for my own?” He smirks.

I blanch; I know all too well the punishment I would face. My words shake with the effort of trying to keep my voice low “You bastard. He would kill me, or confine me for life.”

He frowns at my words, “Delphine there is but one bastard here and it is not me. Knowing your uncle as I do, I dare say he might do either of these things. The hard truth is I am the only chance you have, if I leave here without you, you will be dead one way or another, and I’ll see to it that your life becomes harder than before. Even if I said nothing, you would be at that disgusting man’s mercy at some point. I am a villain and I don’t hide it…get in the way of my fortune and the life I shall live with it, and I shall become a true one. You are either with me, or against me.”

His words weigh heavy, and they affect me deeply, but I am unwilling to let him see how much. “There shall be no need for that Felix. I told you before, I mean to see it through to the end.”

Inclining his dark heads he studies me closely a moment before flashing me a dashing smile saying “I am glad to have the unpleasantries out of the way Delphine. Let’s move on from this, and do what we can to be civil. After all, we have quite some time to spend together before we can go our separate ways. We are not so different in the end, you and I. Come, we shall set up over there.”

He lifts his slender arm and points to a patch of trees a little further up the track, then he offers his arm to me. I look at it a moment before accepting. I glance up to his still smiling face, and I heave a sigh. I slip my arm into his and I glance back to Cosima, who follows us again dutifully before muttering “Very well, Felix.”

 

************

 

He turns to me, “I need to have a little chat with Cosima; see that you are occupied won’t you?”

“Let me guess, you plan to bully her as you have me?”

“Bully her? Not at all. Unlike you Delphine, Cosima is not so changeable…I need not be concerned as to her resolve. The girl is margaute through and through. It would be a mistake to think her growing sentimental.”

He turns from me with quite a flamboyant flourish and strides to her. I take my pencils and begin to sort them, then removing a card I begin to draw diagonal lines, and then to shade them in, just as Cosima had shown me. Felix’s words trouble me, more so than I dare let on, more than should. To know Cosima is so resolute, so unmovable makes me ashamed of myself, ashamed of my weakness. I am surprised at her callousness; I am disappointed.

Trying to dull the painful pangs that make me feel breathless, I begin to draw in earnest, for once applying myself to the craft, losing myself in the soothing sweeps of the pencil. I ignore him solidly, I do not return his caresses, I do not answer his attempts at banter and I can tell Cosima watches from behind, possibly questioning my odd behaviour. I find I do not care, it changes nothing and Felix eventually loses all patience with and storms away, into the trees muttering and cursing. My eyes follow his departure and I feel a bitter satisfaction at his distress. Suddenly realising I haven’t heard a peep from Cosima for some time, I turn fully in my seat and when my eyes find her, the pang in my chest becomes a sharp tug.

She lays beside our bundle of items illuminated by the suns gentle rays, deeply asleep. The tugging becomes sharper and I feel myself stand from my low stool and approach her quietly, glancing briefly over my shoulder to be sure Felix is still elsewhere. Satisfied he is nowhere to be seen I walk to her and kneel gently beside her. Her hair has been tossed by the wind, is wild about her face and I imagine it must tickle. Raising a hand gently, I lean in and softly brush the hair from her face as she slumbers on oblivious. I smile at her, how could I not, she sleeps as deeply as a child…and as she slumbers her face relaxes into its purest of forms, free from guile and conspiracy, leaving her to be just a beautiful and enchanting woman. Cosima’s chest rises and falls slowly, her face looks naked without her glasses, but it doesn’t take from her appearance, instead I notice the features that have escaped my notice thus far; her thick lashes curl admirably, and are so dark they seem black. She has a tiny beauty mark on the right corner of her eye, so small it is almost completely invisible. I resist the urge to reach out and touch it with the tip of my finger. Smiling wider I stand once again, exhaling a heady breath as I tear my gaze from her and raise my head. It is as if I have been punched in the stomach, when my head lifts and my gaze falls to the dark figure standing a small distance away, watching me with a terrifying look in his eye.

I don’t realise how foolish I’ve been until that moment, how transparent…but one look from him and I know what I have done…I know how far-gone I am.

 

***********

 

My eyes widen and I jump in fright. I think I let out a sound but it is swallowed quickly as Felix approaches me with long rapid strides, an unreadable look on his face. My brain refuses to function, I feel an irrational _guilt_ and my immediate response is to flee. I resist the urge and stay where I am, beside the sleeping girl’s side. Felix stops before me a moment, his face a multitude of emotions; he is obviously mutinous, he looks vaguely frightened and horrified all at the same time. Seeing the horror I close my eyes and lift chin, inhaling a steady breath, clearing myself of the obtuse haze of denial that I have been residing in for some time. Once I no longer deny, once I no longer refute, at once I realise what a fool I have been, to not have recognised the simple fact of how much I want her.

Felix has seen it, that much is clear from his expression and I am frightened. Glancing down to Cosima who sleeps on, in that moment it seems she could sleep through anything. I contemplate calling out to her but Felix must anticipate my reaction because he pulls me to him, clamping a hand over my mouth, moves behind me and pulls me while I struggle, relentlessly to the trees.

 

Will he beat me? Kill me? Worse? Fear spurs me into action; I kick, I try to scream but his hand presses upon mouth frighteningly hard, smothering me. When we are a distance away and sheltered by the trees he speaks in a low voice, “scream Delphine, and you shall be sorry. I do not mean to hurt you and I will release you as soon as I ensure your cooperation. We need to talk.”

Breathing heavily through my nose I nod vigorously, and he releases me. I almost stumble, but I wheel around furiously raking in huge gasps of air, lifting a hand to strike him but he anticipates this too; he catches my hand and pulls it down, holding me firmly before hissing “Delphine…I had thought you were having second thoughts because you had been gripped by some sort of morality, by conscience…by weakness but this? _THIS_? Are you serious?!”

Frightened as I am, I decide the best course of action is to admit nothing “I don’t know what you are talking about Felix.” Stepping closer Felix grips me hard about the shoulders, shaking me slightly as he tries to keep his voice low, but I know he longs to shout, and his voice shakes with fury. “You don’t know what I am talking about? It is clear now that you take me for a fool, and perhaps I am.” He looks at me hard, from head to toe, and his lip curls in scorn. “They say it takes one to know one, perhaps I am a fool…to not have seen _this._ ”

Perhaps it is the panic, but I have trouble making sense of what he is saying, blood roars in my ears and I feel faint…nonetheless I am already weary of his aggression and snap “A fool to not have seen what Felix? You are making no sense.”

Felix’s expression darkens instantly, he shakes me harder, and becomes redder in the face as each word leaves his lips “Don’t you get smart with me…I am not a fool and neither are you. You know I mean your…appetites, your predilections if you will…are exactly what I mean Delphine.”

If you can believe it, for a moment I am relieved for I manage to convince myself in mere seconds that if Felix is simply referring to _that_ , and less about Cosima then I might have a chance to put his mind at ease. I scoff “Felix any predilection of mine is hardly of any importance to our plot. I fail to see why you are so angry. Unless perhaps you thought I would somehow find my way to be in love with you, and we would live happily ever after?” I spit in scorn, mocking him. I am on edge, and feel like I have been uncovered entirely, I yearn to lash out, and I yearn to wound him as he has me, for he has left me flayed and bare to the world.

The man does not appreciate my attitude in the slightest and though the colour is starting to fade from his face, he grits his teeth, muttering, “Don’t flatter yourself, Darling. You are entitled to whatever preferences you have. I care not, not at all. But when it gets in the way of _my money_ , of my future…then we have a problem, and _then_ I am angry.”

Tired of being held I attempt to wriggle free but he still holds me painfully tight. I feel the deep ache set in and know I shall be bruised tomorrow. Struggling harder against his infallible grip I begin to lose my temper, desperately trying to keep my voice low though it longs to shout, “Why would it get in the way Felix?! We agreed the marriage is in name only, and for the money. _That_ is what we agreed upon! You said you don’t need a wife, or need of me for anything else, you said you don’t want me in your bed, so _this_ isn’t going to be a problem, unless you make it one. I won’t be your wife, not truly so this is none of your business. You cannot change the terms of our agreement, I will have nothing to do with you after the wedding.”

Felix releases me at last and huffs out a breath of frustration, running his hands through his hair and struggling to control his breathing. Rubbing my arms trying to get the circulation flowing freely again I scowl at him as he looks at me a moment, as if considering something, before drawing close once again and speaking, voice low but forceful “Delphine must you be so obtuse?! You are not the only one who harbours an exclusive attraction to those of the same sex. I have no interest in you in that way…my only interest is in your purse.”

Struck speechless for a moment I try and absorb what he has just told me, but in retrospect it makes such sense, his vow not to touch me after the wedding, his beauty, his charm and impeccable sense of style, his indifference to the images he paints. It should have been obvious, and for a moment I feel like a fool. Feigning nonchalance I try to end the conversation, and assuage his worries “Then there is no problem at all, as you said we are and shall remain indifferent to each other…if anything it is better we are both this way…it shall avoid confusion, Felix. Now, I think we should be getting back.”

His jaw tightens and he glowers at me, blocking me as I attempt to slip by him “Delphine, stop trying to play it off. _I SAW YOU_.”

I cross my arms, and lift my chin defiantly, meeting his implacable glare with my own “You saw me what? Fix her hair? It means nothing Felix. Stop creating problems where there are none.”

Felix moves towards me quickly, so close we are almost nose-to-nose, and I do not shy away, but I stare him down as he mutters, “Do _not_ treat me as if I am stupid! I saw you with her, I saw as clear as day what you feel for that girl. It was written all over your face, on your actions…the girl we mean to _swindle,_ Delphine! _DO_ you think me an idiot?!”

Rooted to the spot, chilled by his words I do not answer. Shaking with frustration Felix moves from me and begins pace for some time, grumbling to himself before wheeling to me and spitting in fury “It all makes sense now, your hesitance, the reluctance…your attitude. The procrastinating!!!! Delphine you have delayed us so long already, and all because of this! How dare you?! Don’t think for a _minute_ you can abandon our plans because you lust for your maid!”

Felix’s last words rip a shiver so violent through me that it is as if I have been plunged head first into a vat of frigid water. I have read about it for years, I know the expressions of lust better than any other girl…so how could I have been so stupid to think no one else would notice? I believed that I could control it, this attraction I feel, and supress the lowly and unsolicited feelings she invokes in me. A heart I never asked for, a heart I never wanted has been rejuvenated within me and despite all my best efforts to quell it, to kill it…it has not been enough to put an end to its unwelcome appearance. Have I truly been so obvious? Can the world plainly see this _burning_ that pains me so? Now that Felix has said it, shown me how _OBVIOUS_ LY that I _lust_ , that I lust for _Cosima_ … I am fraught with the fear that others have seen it too. Has my uncle? Has she? I am disappointed with myself… I expected more, expected to be harder, I expected to be untouchable and it is with a deep dread that I realise that I am no better than anyone else; the weakness of the flesh lies in me too, and it is pathetic.

Merde.

My jaw literally drops at the realisation, the gravity of my desire now clear and painful, my hand comes to my mouth and my eyes widen, filled with fear, filled with horror. Felix observes me in silence, his countenance softening slightly as he draws closer and places a hand on my shoulder “Perhaps it has taken you more by surprise that I first believed?”

My heart is beating a thousand times a minute, my head spins, and I suddenly feel quite nauseous. Desperately, I look up to him eyes wide, naked and in that moment no longer see him as an enemy but a confidant.

As my mind spirals out of control I reason with myself, that I am not alone in either situation; Felix is both my partner in the scheme and apparently in my leanings.

In that moment, the true horror that the beast that haunts mankind lives in me too and it leaves me vulnerable. Open. Bare. There can be no more secrets between us, not now. I decide to be honest.

I take a deep breath before speaking, trying to quiet my distress, trying to hold down the sickness that threatens, “Felix, what have I done? I admit, I know myself not to be drawn to men, I have long remarked my preference is for women, but I didn’t consider it to be of any importance…after all, it had no bearing on anything. I...I never thought something like this could ever happen to me. I never expected to feel this for Cosima…I don’t even think I fully acknowledged it before now.”

Pausing a moment the tall man regards me with something akin to sympathy lurking in his eyes. Finally speaking, Felix tries tact instead of anger, I do not know if he genuinely cares but he seems sincere as he says “Love who you will Delphine, but don’t love her.”

I blink away tears.

Felix sighs and continues, though his tone becomes ever so slightly harder “I do not judge, I have told you Delphine…I share your perversion. But you cannot let it get in the way, you cannot let her get in the way, not after how far we have come.”

Upset as I am, my head whips up defensively shocked at his remark “Don’t speak to me in such a way. I know I have made a mistake, but you still have no right to call me perverted. I have witnessed perversion Sir, and I am not. After all it is natural enough. I have read much to know there are many a person like us.”

Scoffing at my little outburst Felix released my shoulder “You have read about how there are many like us Delphine? Where? In your uncle’s _books_ , in that filth he cultivates? You told me once you knew what others did not…that what was written between those pages was _fantasy!_ You must trust me on this, you’ve never been out of this place, you don’t know truly how society regards us, you don’t know how we are solidly _other._ I don’t believe it is a perversion either, but that is how _they_ see us. It is a dangerous thing, you naïve fool, to be as we are in the real world. You must know that the vast majority of the society doesn’t feel the same way we do…that they shun us. Cosima is one of those majority…she is normal.”

I let his words sink in, the implications, and I feel hollowness for having yet another reason to be different, even though that reason comes as naturally to me as breathing. The memory of Felix’s words pound through me like horses hooves, beating me, battering me from within “Cosima is normal.”

The words leave my mouth without my knowledge and consent and my voice is filled with a conviction that surprises even me “I am not abnormal.”

Felix pauses before responding, his voice taking on an ominous tone “Perhaps not…but tell me Delphine…how do you think Cosima would react if you told her, or if I did? She would be horrified, no doubt.”

He doesn’t smile, and his words carry a threat as heavy as the one of this morning. What _would_ she say, what would she think? Would she be as horrified as Felix thinks? I am sure of one thing, and one thing only, Cosima would think me an utter fool…and I am. Fool I am for developing romantic feelings for a woman who is trying to con me, for a woman I shall con myself, a woman I shall betray. I cannot give her the satisfaction of knowing me weak. My pride is dangerously fragile in this moment, and when I speak it comes out a whisper “You cannot tell her, she can never know.”

He considers it a moment. “I shall say nothing as long as you live up to your promise Delphine. Hush!” Felix looks to his right, where a slight brushing captures his attention. He turns to me and hisses, “She is coming. Come now; let us begin the end of this game. Lean into me…let her see us embrace. You will tell her you have accepted my proposal, and we shall set the wheels in motion for our departure.”

Feeling overwhelmed, I recoil, I cannot lean into him, cannot have him kiss me, not now...but I hear her draw closer, and Felix becomes frantic “Come quickly! The sooner its done the easier it shall be. Do not torment yourself any longer. There will be others, there always are. Come to me now!”

I yield…and step into his embrace, yet as I lean into him I cannot help but feel the tears well in my eyes, tears that come because I am so angry, so angry with myself for letting this happen. Felix holds me close, he sees my tears but ignores them, waiting anxiously for her to appear and soon she does. She tries to hide, but I can see her, observing us. Cosima thinks herself out of sight but like so much, she is oblivious to how obvious she is, standing half crouched behind a tree, hidden slightly by the surrounding bushes. Felix’s mouth draws close to mine and I grimace, he notices and sighs but he is relentless. I turn away at the last second, but he makes it work, he pushes his face into my neck, and then slides down and kisses me on the exposed skin of my collarbone. I shudder, the skin burns as if it has been scorched, it itches from the second his lips touch it. As soon as he draws back I see Cosima turn on her heel and walk away. I think she must be jubilant to have seen me yield to Felix at last, relieved to see her part of the plan is making steady progress. I begin to fume silently and when she is out of sight and out of earshot I shove Felix away harder then I mean to.

Felix stumbles back and scowls. Ignoring his displeasure I brush myself down as he says “Well Delphine, I am not a stranger to unrequited love, but you cannot allow yourself to feel this way for Cosima. In two weeks, perhaps less she will be in the asylum and you a free and very wealthy woman. Do not forget why I am here Delphine…I am here; I am doing this, for the money. If you, or she gets in the way of that…I will deal with you both, no matter what the price. Even if it costs me the entire plot I will see you pay for it. I want your _word_ that whatever sentiment, whatever feelings you have for the girl ends now.”

Forcing myself to look up at him, I take a breath and make my decision. There is no going back, only forward…and that is the direction I must keep moving towards, away from my feelings and toward my freedom. I need to go forward. Weakly I shake my head in agreement before saying “It is done Felix. I assure you, this is as unwelcome a development to me as it is to you.”

He extends a hand to me, and I take it. We walk hand in hand back to where our materials await, where Cosima sits and while we make our approach I cannot help asking how I could have allowed this to happen, how I could have done it to myself? I think to the fluttering in my stomach, the warming of my body, and my inexplicable draw to her…I had put it down to the neglect I have experienced, attributed it to loneliness and finally thinking I have met someone who understood the workings of my mind; and all this time it has been desire. Just that. I want her, I yearn for her and I cannot believe it.

 


	14. A Scientific Man Ought to Have No wishes, No affections- A Mere Heart of Stone.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Delphine tells Cosima that she is getting married, but despite her attempts to dedicate herself to the execution of the plot and to ignore her feelings for Cosima, it is easier said than done.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, sorry this is late... i think its best that i let ye know that two week updates may no longer be a thing, life is crazy at the moment for me and my fantastic Beta, so i cant guarantee them. However in saying that I am writing, its not dead, and ill post as soon as I can, whether that be every two weeks, three weeks or whatever. 
> 
> I just wanna as always send a shout out to Mad_Scientist_88, who is awesome generally, and an exceptionally good beta *sends her huggles for her greatness*. To all fellow Clexa fans as well, I just wanna throw out a FUCK YOU WRITERS OF THE 100. Im done with OB and the freaking 100 now... longlive fanfic, an escape from the cruel trope writing world. *Im never leaving the ballpit again Oh She Who Has No nickname. Never.*
> 
> This chapter is long, but Mad and I thought it flowed Ok as one. It is also NSFW, so heads up :D As always please feel free to comment away, id love to know what ye think here or on tumblr
> 
> https://www.tumblr.com/blog/yetanothereireannach

 

 

** Chapter 14: **

 

 That night I am quiet, and though Cosima notices she leaves me to my thoughts. I believe she is avoiding me, for she refuses to catch my eye, and pretends to busy herself with the arrangement of my already tidied things. Her attitude puzzles me; I had assumed that she would plague me with questions about the walk Felix and I ‘ _shared’_ as she lagged behind, but she doesn’t. In fact she doesn’t mention him at all, though I catch her staring at me more than once and each time I do, Cosima turns a shade of puce and solidly dodges my company. I wonder perhaps if it is something to worry about, if there is something she has learned or noticed, but casting away the worry I try to deal with the much more pressing matter at hand. I must get a reign on my feelings, I must seize control and banish them…I must capture the beast of lust that lurks within me and stifle it.

Left much to my own company that evening, I ruminate in peace. Thinking back to the very beginning of this whole affair I try to analyse the point where I let Cosima get to me, get into me, and into my heart. I try to understand _how_ this could have happened and why; where did I go wrong?

I cannot claim that I was oblivious to my nature for I have been aware of my leanings towards women for some time. After all this is no surprise that I am knowledgeable in such things; after reading enough to know attraction to the same sex is a whole genre of my uncles collection, to know enough that I am not alone, that there are others like me, and have always been other like me. It was an interesting revelation at the time, but one that I quickly cast aside as unimportant during my younger years, for leading the life I do at the Manor, it would never be of any consequence. Knowing my attraction to women left me guarded to it, it left me wary so I am baffled at just how far the little brunette has managed to slip through my defences. Indeed, when Cosima arrived she was notably more beautiful that I expected but it doesn’t change her deceit, her false nature…I had expected that to be enough to make any sort of attraction impossible.

It should be impossible, but here I am, overcome with desire and remorse…how could this be? Sitting in sombre silence, slowly the realisation dawns upon me that it was my own arrogance that allowed me to create this untenable situation.

My arrogance goes to the fact I thought I was _above_ all this. Thinking I was indifferent to desire and resolute in my derision that I had allowed myself to believe that my sapphic predisposition was nothing important because it was irrelevant. Believing I was immune to lust, incapable of loving… prided myself on my ability to remain untouched by the texts I read, to stamp out any inkling of attraction felt, not that I had many occasions to feel any. How obvious it seems now that I let this conceit blind me, leaving me unaware of my feelings, and unable to identify them. When confronted with these strange emotions, the fear of the unknown caused me to ignore them and inevitably the feelings that should have been eradicated in the very beginning grew into feelings that run deeper than anything I have ever felt.

Raging against myself on the divan, I fume against my arrogance, my carelessness. Of all the women in the world to become infatuated with! Cosima is Cosima…the girl who has come to the Manor to con me, who befriends me with ulterior motives, the girl who plans to take me for everything I have. Cosima is the girl I shall swindle and whose identity I shall thieve, abandoning her to a fate that some would argue, is worse than death. Of all the women who I could allow myself to feel something for, she is the last one I should. Cosima is the _only_ one that I truly _CANNOT_ have, _CANNOT_ want, because I still must do what I have to do, want her as I might.

Even now having put a name to it, this queer wanting still feels strange to me. Felix called it lust…yet he mentioned love. I have little faith that they are intrinsically linked, despite what people should like to say. I begin to ponder this concept; the concept of love and decide it cannot be that. Still deeming myself unable to experience of such an emotion shrug it off; Cosima cannot have changed me so much…love is not something that exists in my world and if I ever loved it was long, long ago. Tears spring to my eyes of their own accord, and trickle inexplicably over my cheeks…I am inherently unlovable and could never lie to myself enough to believe she could or would ever feel anything for me. Any kindness she shows me, any warmth is that of her character, it is the part she plays, while the real her sits aside and laughs at my ignorance.

So, is it lust? For it is not what I believed it to be, and is not as it has been described in the books; the flash of folly, a burning heat that must be satiated lest one die from the flames. I have not even allowed myself to think of her in _that_ way, not allowed my mind to wander, my thoughts to drift, so how can it be lust? For Cosima I feel a _pull_ that is both painful and pleasant at the same time; it is more of an incomprehensible yearning, the need to place a hand upon hers or brush their hair from her eyes then the desire to join our flesh. The primary sensation I sense around Cosima is the feeling like my chest is filling with more and more sweet air until it feels so full it is fit to burst. These emotions leave me utterly confused until there is but one thing that makes sense. I am drawn to her as a moth is to a flame.

Eventually Cosima comes to dress me for sleeping, we go to bed and she falls instantly asleep. Tense as I am sleep evades me wholly but not wishing to wake Cosima decide not to smoke and instead turn onto my side and study her face in the dim candle light, asking myself what _is_ it that I feel for her, hoping to find an answer there on her slumbering face. Unaware of how long I stare, eventually I look away and breathe a sigh of frustration. Her face holds no answers for me, and even if it did…they would change nothing. Two weeks before the end of the plot…before the end of this. Steeling myself, once again allow myself to gaze upon the peaceful girl a little longer as she sleeps, soothed by the steady rise and fall of her chest and whisper into the darkness with everything I have, all the feelings I possess, “I am sorry.”

Laying back on my pillow I let the tears fall from my eyes. I will tell her tomorrow.

I will tell her that I am getting married.

 

***********

 

 

 

The next morning I wake beside Cosima upset, contrary, and restless. Nothing calms me, I pace the room like a caged animal and even Cosima begins to get on my frayed nerves. She flits and flutters around me like Gaelle, nervous and unsure and I keep my hands bunched, afraid I might reach out and strike her or worse still, pull her to me and embrace her. Now aware of my less than friendly feelings I believe that nothing is impossible anymore, and  am deeply preoccupied contemplating that terrible thought - the possibility that my hands act of their own accord - when her hesitant voice jerks me into consciousness “Shall we go to see the frogs Miss?

 

Caught by surprise I wheel around to her in a rage, almost losing control of myself. Cosima’s anxiety is too much like the other girl, the girl I tormented for sport, and it seems to me that her nervous countenance is so obviously caused by her eagerness to hear about my “tryst” with Felix. Cosima doesn’t know I saw her watching Felix and I yesterday, and though she waits for me to bring it up I believe she tries to steer the conversation towards him more than once and when she does find myself overcome with the urge to stride to her, to shake her…to pry the truth from her devious lips. However I know to do that, I must spill the truth of my own and so gather myself and take a deep breath before muttering “Yes. I would like to take some air, and god knows I need a cigarette. Come.” Stepping from the room before the words come streaming from my mouth. I tramp down to the grounds as she trails after me. I smoke a cigarette, and then another.

 

My thoughts are drawn rather inexplicably to my mother…I imagine her shut behind the asylum gates, forced into solitary confinement as she wails into nothingness about the injustice of her internment. I know my mother was not in fact mad at all, as I have already mentioned, she was committed to the madhouse for she fell pregnant with me. Had the woman survived my birth I am sure she would have become so at some point…mad I mean. I remember the wards well and witnessed the treatment of the women, their madness being a contagion to the others in the asylum, one that I was immune to. A woman’s condition would rapidly decline once committed to the asylum, the mad become madder, and the sad become sadder. My mother, healthy in mind wouldn’t have had a hope, the contagion would have spread to her clean mind and imbibed it, turning her own brain against her. Suddenly the face I have studied so closely in the sole image I possess, my mother’s face transforms into Cosima’s, and suddenly I feel quite faint assured in the knowledge that she, will be driven as mad as the rest of them.

I must distract myself from my terrifying thought, because I am seized with a guilt unlike anything ever experienced before. Needing to remind myself of her deception, of her lies, ask “How did your mother die?” I know Cosima is an orphan but do not know the circumstances for her being one. It is obvious from the surprise on her face, by her mumbled answer that she is both shocked by my question, and lied for her response “Emmm… she had a weakness of the lungs.”

Inhaling deeply on my cigarette, I resent that she has not told me the truth about how she is an orphan, resent knowing nothing _real_ about her. Does she know about me? That I am a bastard, a rich bastard yes, but a mistake whose very birth would be a violent selfish thing? I hear myself speak, but do not remember meaning to do so “I murdered my mother, you know?”

Cosima’s reaction is to be expected I suppose, but I detest it immediately; the shock on her face is obvious but then to my displeasure it turns to pity. Cosima will not pity me. I don’t deserve her pity…I did kill my mother, as sure as if I had stabbed her in the heart with a knife. I murdered her tearing my way into the world, and Cosima’s blood will be on my hands soon enough too. The idea she should pity me is abhorrent, it is grotesque. I feel no remorse for my mother, but the thought that I shall be the cause of Cosima’s demise, it is vile…but it is inevitable.

I am unable to bear Cosima’s intense scrutiny of me, I can practically hear her mind whirling, and can almost taste her pity. It revolts me. Wheeling away I move swiftly towards the river, away from the solarium. I determine I shall find this Adeline Leekie’s grave, the grave that I have never cared about nor seen in my ten years here. I shall find it and curse it; curse the woman for conceiving me, for bearing me, for bringing me into the world and then taking herself from it. I should have never been born, but I was…born to a life of misery and suffering…because of her and her thoughtless dalliances and her reckless actions. Raised loveless and left alone in the world because of her… for in my mind it was my mother who forsook me before anyone else, her death leaving me _his_. My uncles…leading me to _this_ … the plot to forsake and steal the life of another and will never forgive her for it. Let me say now… having the miserable life I did, someone had to take the blame… and so I blamed her, with every ounce of my being. Blamed her for my conception, my birth, my survival and above all for this… what I shall do to Cosima. I walk hard and fast and I can hear Cosima’s ragged breath behind me as she battles to keep up with me.

Then a heavy drop hits my neck and I shudder, but stride on. Another hits my face. Suddenly it is as if someone opens the skies and water comes thundering down, not in drops but heavy sheets of rain. I am soaked to the skin in seconds and can hear Cosima calling to me through the din of the torrent. I ignore her, and instead look up towards the sky, but the rain is too heavy for me to open my eyes. Feeling it pummel my face, the drops lashing me so hard it stings, I revel in it; imagining my mother’s grave, picturing myself dancing upon it, and abruptly am seized with the macabre hilarity of the situation. This entire situation, this slow waltz to a madhouse, our badly played game of chess, uneven and unfair, because only one of the player knows the rules while the other plays blindly on, and loss guaranteed. I find myself laughing harder and harder, until I feel a firm set of hand on my shoulders shaking me. Cosima shakes me harder yet I cannot stop, the morbid laughter bursts from me in manic blasts of hilarity.

Screaming my name, Cosima jerks me hard enough for my teeth clack together and I finally bring my gaze to her own. Cosima looks at me, she looks into me, desperately trying to understand what is happening to me, but how could she?

How could she ever know the terrible feelings I feel, made ever worse by knowing, though she is dear to me, that I shall betray her? Her honey brown eyes gaze into my own and they fix, my eyes quickly scan her face, taking her in. Cosima’s hair has come undone and falls free, soaked and covering her shoulders like a curtain. Eyes boring into my own, Cosima’s chest heaves, and suddenly we become inexplicably closer. I see her gaze drop to my lips and her pupils darken.

Seeing this a jolt flashes through me, straight to my stomach…could it be? I tell myself that it cannot but nonetheless my arms reach out and lightly encircle her waist…and when I do Cosima pulls me to her, hard and tight, so tight I can feel her blood thrumming through her. Cosima’s eyes drop to my lips for what seems like an eternity and my heart thunders. Our lips are but inches away and moving closer, all I would have to do is drop my chin…Cosima’s eyes raise to mine and flutter when a clap of thunder rings out, impossibly loud, and lurches me to my senses.

Stepping from her quickly I turn my back to her and try to regain my breath…my thoughts are furious and incoherent. I was going to kiss her, I am almost sure, and believe she would have let me in that moment. I am not sure whether that makes all of this worse…I believe it does. Cosima must remain unattainable. A horrific thought jumps to my mind…how far is she willing to go for this plot? Is she just trying to lure me in further into her trap?

I need to get this over with. Taking a deep breath and composing myself I turn and see her, puce in the face and her eyes are as wide as I have ever seen them…and then I say the words

“Monsieur Delvinquiere has asked me to be his wife.”

It takes me by surprise that Cosima is visibly shocked. I thought I would see a flash of elation in her eyes, but all I see there is…doubt and what seems to be fear. Eventually she pulls herself together and offers me a small weak smile, stuttering as she speaks “Miss Delphine. That is…wonderful. Congratulations.” As the words flow from her, expected or not, I find that something breaks in me at them, leaving me overwhelmed for a moment and causing tears to spring to my eyes. I stare at her searching for that shred of doubt I had seen in her eyes seconds before, finding it completely extinguished, and murmur “Is it?”

I observe her blink once, then twice before Cosima visibly braces herself and rushes in headlong, assuring me that it is a splendid thing, a wonderful thing. Of course she would say that; I was counting on it so I cannot truly be surprised, and ignoring the pang of pain within me harden my resolve, disregard the disappointment I feel and apply myself to my task. This is where I must reel _her_ in for she cannot think it is this easy…Cosima must think herself integral to Monsieur’s plot, she must think I need her, and so I tell her I have not accepted his proposal, and as expected she urges me onwards, urges me to run away with him. As she should, Cosima is dedicated to her plot…she means to see it through to the end…and so must I.

All is going smoothly, Cosima follows my lead as if we dance until she says something that I cannot disregard…something that touches me, something that frightens me. “Well…Miss Delphine if you love him then you have your answer, for one cannot live without the person they love. You must follow your heart.”

Suddenly the spot where Felix kissed me yesterday burns as if I had been branded; I scratch, I itch until I almost become frantic. Cosima observes it all…she must see the horror on my face, she must see the despair I feel because her face transforms in that instant; it is like something has dawned upon her for the first time, all hints of guile fade from her features and a determined expression sets in.

Hearing her ask me if I love him... I try to evade the question, for it is ridiculous - of course I do not love him, how can she not see it when it is as clear as day. Attempting to escape from her gaze, I make to return to the Manor but Cosima presses me harder and harder still, demanding an answer. She reaches for me, grips my hands and all fight drains from me…I answer as evasively as I can “I do not know. Is it really that important?” before again trying to turn away.

I am unable to move away because Cosima holds me fast; she almost grapples me as she clasps my hand tightly. She urges me, a rapt and almost desperate expression crossing her beautiful face. I am lost in her eyes when she blurts something that changes me forever in that moment; it changes the game we play, it changes who I thought I was, and who I shall forever be.

Cosima looks me dead in the eye and mutters, her voice low, earnest “You must know? It is something your heart knows in an instant. If you love him your heart should beat madly at the sight of him, you should ache to hold him, ache for him to kiss you…ache for him in his entirety. If you love him the mere thought of him should be enough to make you smile, you should dream of him in waking and sleeping. You must know!”

My stomach plummets and a sob lodges itself there securely, ready to fight its way up and out into the humid air. I feel faint at her words because what she has said is almost everything I feel for her, yet it is only just the tip of the ice-berg. It is no longer a question to pose myself, it is no longer just a notion of lust or desire, for it has at last been answered and I am without breath. My heart squeezes at the knowledge of how far I have let my folly bring me; to the point of no return. The answer is so neat and simple, that I fear I have known it all along yet denied it viciously…I love her. I am in love with Cosima. Cosima Niehaus…the woman I am to become.

I remember little of following conversation for my mind ceases to function and everything blurs until she says words that are like a slap to my dazed mind, spurring it into activity once more, words that make me question everything: her, myself, our plot and our roles in it. “Perhaps you should refuse him so.”

I gawk quite gormlessly for a moment, for these are the last words I ever expected her to say, the last words I _need_ her to say in that instant. How could she?! What does she mean by it? It is disastrous for my resolve is already weak, I am already vulnerable. Whipping around to face her I see the regret on her face immediately, and am thankful for it! Thankful because there is no way around this, thankful because this is the way it is supposed to be, the way it has to be…both of us deceiving the other. Opening my mouth to speak I tell her that I shall marry Felix and when she asks me why, tell her the truth “Because it is the only way I will ever be free. Be free of this house, my uncle, and the beatings…and the constant fear of more than just the beatings every time I am in his company. Monsieur Delvinquiere is it. My only chance of getting out. Love him or not, I must take it.”

 

***********

 

 

No longer blind to my feelings, I am petrified. I have gone beyond what I have ever thought possible; I am in love with Cosima, and it is maddening after believing myself incapable of such an emotion for years, that now I am consumed by it. I love her, and it is infuriating, it is impossible…and it is cruel. The sardonic cruelty of it makes me angry, restless and overcome with resentment causing me to snap at Cosima more than once. She gazes at me, a wounded look in her eye, surprised and wary and I cannot help but feel a sliver of guilt before rejecting it there is no room for it; there is no room for _love_ in me. I tell myself that it is the end, that whatever I feel, no; whatever I _felt_ for her is finished. If only it were as simple as all that.

My drawing lessons with Felix, always a trial before, have become a slow torture now. The man adores to mock me, to set me on edge, to play me against myself, against her and I dare not glance to Cosima in his presence. When I meet his gaze it is hard and threatening…if my hand shakes he raises an eyebrow. Felix knows my fear of him telling her about me, about what I feel for her and he plays me like a fiddle. I know he mocks me at dinner, he will catch my eye and glance to my uncle quickly, to ensure he is unobserved, then he will slowly, languidly draw his tongue across his lips. I know all too well what he insinuates and I blush, much to my own irritation.

One day I am working away on my drawing, ignoring Felix as best I can, when I almost feel this desire for mischief waft from him. I am not wrong for soon Felix leans in and says “A little over one week till the wedding Delphine…tell me, would you like me to engage a nice looking lady to entertain you on the wedding night, a distraction of sorts? You seem tense.” At his words, my nostrils flare as does my temper, and I am momentarily without words. I raise my eyes to see him regarding me smugly, enjoying my speechlessness.

Felix has taken it a step too far, and though I long to strike him I dare not. I imagine myself flying at him, scratching, punching, kicking, and bite my lip so hard it bleeds. I need space, or I feel I shall give into the mental images that are not nearly satisfying enough to satiate me. I step away from him quickly, pushing past him harshly. I see Cosima’s eyes widen in surprise but cannot bring myself to care of the impression I am giving. Felix looks surprised at my reaction, as if he _expected_ me to hold it together…but the gall of him, the sheer disrespect he has shown me has become too much. I will not look at him again today, and despite his multiple yet awkward entreatments, I continue to ignore him until he leaves. When he does I exhale a shaky breath and allow myself to utter the words with a bitter vehemence “I detest you.”

 

***********

 

The closer the day comes that I finally gain my freedom from this place, the more miserable I become. As each minute ticks by the more I feel the love seeping through me, and the sharper I feel the betrayal I shall make against my opponent, against a girl who has somehow become a friend, and even worse, somehow become the holder my heart. Willing the time to pass, yet dread it doing so and it is as if I’m trapped in purgatory; torn between two worlds, the land of the living and the land of the dead. In the land of the living I am trapped here at the Manor, but free to give my heart to the woman who has stolen it, unwittingly or not. In the land of the dead I am free and at liberty to do and be who I am but unavoidably lose something that is fundamentally part of me, something I can never get back.

Afterall, why would one want a heart or soul, when they just bring their bearer suffering? Being with Cosima is physically painful, not because I cannot have her in the way I want her, but rather because I see the shining star she is; I am graced with her dashing smile and her hypnotizing hand movements as they dance through the air, I can smell her - a truly unique smell sweet with a hint of rose. I can touch her, adjust her dress, and take her arm as we walk, yet at the same time I am cursed with the knowledge that these things, the smiles, her smell, her presence are some of the last I shall experience…they are finite. When Cosima smiles at me, it is to be cherished and collected and stored away into a mental library; when she laughs I will myself to remember the sound, and as she sleeps beside me I struggle to imprint the feeling of her body pressed against me into my memory.

I am no fool; I know the feeling is not mutual and that Cosima doesn’t feel the reticence I do as the end draws near. She remains solid, while I almost buckle under the weight of betrayal. Cosima can no longer meet my eye without blushing, and I wonder if she is afraid of me since that…moment…we shared by the river. I reject this scathingly and tell myself to get a grip, nothing happened by the river…my mind must simply be playing tricks on me, desperate to see any sort of requiting to my longing, but do puzzle about her behaviour for a short time, and it seems to me that if she is anything, she seems agitated. Cosima is filled with a jittery sort of energy, she tosses and turns as she sleeps, sometimes waking with a jolt in the night. She flits about me restless as ever, always moving, always on edge. The only place we can seem to relax around each other is in the solarium, surrounded by our little companions. Here both of us shed the weight of our disguise it seems, and we just focus on what is important in that time…the science.

As I sit in the solarium I reflect on all we have accomplished in this tiny space. The frogs I captured, bred and their spawn developed into a hearty amount of tadpoles. Of course not every tadpole made it, we witnessed a fair amount of cannibalism among the first hatched tadpoles and remaining spawn, which from a scientific standpoint was fascinating. Though I have read of filial cannibalism Cosima and I were enthralled by the process; the first hatched tadpoles consumed remorselessly consuming their slower hatching siblings. Cosima and I witnessed in person the epitome of natural selection, the slower developing tadpoles were consumed, allowing the faster developed tadpoles to become stronger, to have a better chance of survival. Could there be a paradox with our situation, between her and I? Must I consume her or be consumed? Nature tells me this is the way it is, the way it _has_ to be, but is hard to remain so resolute _here_ , in this place… where we have shared so much.

Chuckling quietly to myself as I remember in the early days, before the frogs had spawned…when Cosima was quite repulsed by our moist little friends. Personally I find them rather endearing little animals and one day when examining the female, she jumped from my hands onto Cosima, who was hovering behind me looking over my shoulder. Cosima let out an almighty shriek and screamed until I removed the poor and no doubt shaken frog from the girl. I was surprised by her reaction…after all, it was just a frog and it seemed a bit extreme. Placing the female back into the pond I made a decision, I captured the male and insisted that Cosima hold him. Cosima refused of course, her eyes widening behind her glasses, her ands sweeping to the side in a frantic “Non” gesture…this whole escapade ended with me chasing her around the solarium until I cornered her, laughing and _demanded_ she hold the little creature. Cosima grimaced up at me, effectively trapped between myself and the wall before she accepted him, reluctantly. She pouted for a minute or so, shuddering at the feel of the twitching frog clasped between her hands but eventually seemed to become accustomed to the moist little creature, because she smiled tentatively and rubbed his little head before passing him back to me saying “Ok, they aren’t that bad, once you get used to the sliminess. Because they are really slimy, but I guess they are kind of adorable actually.”

I watch her now, three froglets in her lap, smiling happily down at them and I feel sick. The words leave me without my knowledge “We should release them.”

Cosima is horrified, her mouth drops open, and her eyes widen behind her spectacles; a frog hops from her now slack hand. As she begs me to reconsider I almost falter, almost change my mind but cannot…I cannot reconsider. I won’t…for this the experiment represents everything I feel for the girl, and the frogs are something we _share_ , something that we have created, and watched grow together. I need to let her go, and so must let them go. She stands stock still, the worlds tumbling from her mouth “Release them? “

Feigning nonchalance I hear myself say “Yes…the experiment is complete and they are almost fully grown. We have no further use for them.” Cosima’s mouth gapes further at how cold I sound. She trembles visibly, her bottom lip quivering, breaking my heart and weakening my resolve. After all, this is not easy for me, those little frogs have been my consolation throughout my dreary days, and they brought me solace from my darkest of moments…perhaps it could wait? Then I remember that it will have to be done anyways…the wedding approaches, we already have our departure date and I tell her so. Steeling my resolve I gather up the only friends I ever truly had and put them in a little box, trying to remain strong, trying to ignore Cosima’s tears, and trying to contain my own.

 

***********

 

 

 

The following days remain the same, I am sharp with her and twitchy in her presence, afraid to touch her, lest I move to hold her, afraid to speak lest I tell her everything. Cosima knows something is wrong, but perhaps attributes it to the sensitive nerves of a lover’s heart…if only she knew. No matter how harsh or unpleasant I am to her, I am still plagued every minute of every day in Cosima’s company, or out of it. Despite my stern insistence that I must feel nothing for the girl, my eyes follow her where ever she goes, my mind is with her; even as I am not. Now I know I love her, truly love her, I cannot escape the fact. She has torn my heart from me, alive and lain it at my feet, and I look at it beating before me in horror.

 

It is laughable really, for I still mean to go ahead with the plan…I must. I am still victim to my uncle’s recurrent violence and though spared from his lewd advances due to Felix’s presence, I know his eyes still track me as I leave, his gaze more perverse than ever. I know he is counting the days until he shall have me alone…and cannot let that happen. I told myself I would be willing to sacrifice anything to get away from this place and if the price is my newly found heart, my misplaced affection for the girl that plans to swindle me; then so be it.

 

**********

 

 

 Nothing soothes me the days following my revelation. Though I dread the day the wedding shall come, I long for the day that so I will no longer have to pretend, no longer have to restrain myself. I thought I had known fear before, especially considering have lived through very frightening ùoùents, but there is nothing as frightening as knowing that _I_ could be the one lacking control, that I am the one a tiptoe from the edge of reason, that _I am_ the lecherous beast…it is revolting to the extreme.

I am without solace and sleep worse than ever, but am not alone in this; Cosima tosses and turns as I do, her sleep it interrupted and fitful. Still I am often accosted by nightmares, and worse still are the dreams that now haunt me, unspeakable dreams, dangerous dreams, dreams that wake me with a burning need that I refuse to satiate. I have never yielded before to such wants, and do not plan to begin now. I believe my previous denial of the nature of my feelings kept me from seeing Cosima in a certain way, it had stopped me wanting to draw her to me, to kiss her, to touch her, but knowing how I feel now my craving for her haunts me like a ghost. No look of mine towards her is innocent, nothing she does is free from my scrutiny or want. I begin to abhor myself, to detest this primal longing that I consider so beneath me yet that encompasses every cell of my being.

A few days before the end we are in bed as usual, side by side. We had smoked a little but I still felt restless so I lit the pipe again and as my mind is filled with a light fog, my movements slow, the tension in my shoulders unravels. And so does my tongue.

The words come from my mouth of their own volition, slipping forth into the dim candlelight and as heavy as lead, “I am afraid.”

I sit in bemused silence, trying to decide in my haze whether the words had actually come out of my mouth. The answer comes but second later, when Cosima asks, “What are you afraid of Delphine?” The familiarity does not go unnoticed by me, nor her I think, as she stiffens slightly I am sure she has also caught her slip.

I sit on the bed, legs warm under the blanket and I can feel the heat radiate from the body that sits mere inches from my own. I wonder for a moment if I should tell her how I feel about her…would it help? If I told her, would the feelings go away? As soon as the foolish thought crosses my mind I immediately dismiss it. Thanks to Felix’s education, and a bit more research of my own, I now know that as much as I feel it is right to be the way I am, I must be wary of the world…especially when I leave this place. I need not cede my predisposition, I just need to keep it close to chest, and Cosima…Cosima is normal, she would most likely be horrified.

Cosima patiently awaits my response, and I decide to answer as honestly as I can, choosing my words carefully. I choose to tell a truth, but not the biggest truth of all…instead settling for admitting how I feel now the marriage approaches, inevitable as the nightfall “I am scared of being married. It has never been something I aspired to and now I feel like it is being pushed upon me like a wave.”

Cosima responds, and it is enough to make me regret my candour, something that reminds me of the role she is her to play, the job she has been tasked with “What is there to be afraid of in marriage? You shall be husband and wife and there is nothing more natural in the world. I know it shall be a change of course but there is nothing to be scared of.”

I sigh for I had been honest to a point, but see now that we aren’t talking as girls do but rather Cosima sees this as an opportunity to push me towards him and into his arms. As I sit there absorbing her words, and the implications that go with them, I am struck hardest by one of her phrases that stings like a slap to the face, “Nothing more natural in the world?” I hear myself ask. Turning my attention to her I study her in detail. Cosima sits beside me on the bed, close to me but not close enough that we are touching. She doesn’t wear her glasses and shies from my gaze; as she looks at her lap and I see her turn a light shade of pink. She stammers a moment under the weight of my scrutiny and she mumbles “Of course not.”

Her mumbled response rather irritates me, indeed she remains ignorant but it goes back to the very root of this problem…to my problem, to my own “unnatural leanings” and my unwelcome feelings for the girl. I think about her words, “Of course not” and for the first time I wonder whether I am mistaken…perhaps there is something wrong with me, perhaps the way I feel _is_ wrong. I have always known myself to be an odd creature, but with my upbringing how could I not be? My tastes I had always considered to be the least odd thing about me, considering the life I have had thus far. Frowning, the ample amount of marijuana I have consumed stops me being able to process, it leaves me unable to have a clear thought and against my better judgement I ask, “What do you consider to be natural Cosima?”

Seeing her blush harder I am puzzled but only for a moment, and in my newfound existential doubt find myself clinging to what she shall say next. The weight of my uncertainty crushes me as do her words when they flow from her mouth “Well, he is a handsome man, you are a beautiful woman, it is natural that you should fall in love and be married.”

My heart sinks…I suppose it _is_ logical. I imagine most other girls would find themselves drawn to such a beautiful man. Gaelle certainly was but I cannot hide my disdain at the notion. Scoffing loudly and notice Cosima’s surprised expression. I stare at her bemusedly, for why _is_ she so surprised? After all she knows that I do not love him, even if she doesn’t know why. I suppose he is fine-looking, but I am surprised by a strange sort of clenching in my stomach, the brief anger that flooded through me when she called him handsome.

 

I am growing weary and wish to put an end to this pointless conversation. She catches me off guard when she asks, quite bluntly “You do not love him at all Miss?” When she asks this she turns to me, her face is open, curious…intent. I feel she has moved closer, she seems closer…the distance between us seems to shrink as I look at her. I consider lying, opening my mouth to say I find him passable but instead find myself mumbling the words “I do not know…I think not.”

I feel trepidation in the most exquisite and delicious way…I am aware that with one word as her mistress I could put an end to this line of inquiry but am unable to. I feel the truth about my feelings for her break closer to the surface, and I desperately try to bring them in, but they fight to be free, they want to be free, they need to be free. I think I am about to speak when she asks her next question and unwittingly saves me from myself “So you feel nothing for him, even when he holds your hand and kisses you?”

Stiffining I feel the deep blush creep up my neck to settle into my cheeks, growing hotter by the second. I am once again reminded of my otherness…of course most girls would be stirred by his attentions…but I am not. I think it goes beyond my inversion, and though long for Cosima believe I am still to an extent what I always was; walled off, indifferent…frigid.

Looking at her in silence and I can see she waits for a response with pointed interest. Heaving a sigh and I reflect a moment; I know she sees me flinch from him, she sees me grimace against his embraces…so why bother pretending? I don’t need to tell her that I am not a lover of men, but I do not need to pretend that I am either, there are plenty of reasons I could remain indifferent. It doesn’t change anything…I shall still marry him as far as she is concerned, and as far as I am concerned he is the key that shall open the door to my freedom. So I say, “When he kisses me…I dare say no. I feel nothing. But perhaps it is not him…it is me. Perhaps I am lacking something, this capacity for love or perhaps even some physical aspect necessary to ignite what other people call passion.”

I am not lying, not really. The truth is that I have never been heated by anyone, stirred by anyone but the girl beside me. It was foreign to me before her arrival as I am sure it shall be foreign to me when we part ways. I could very well be frigid, after all I had always believed myself to be. When she laughs openly, heartily as if it is ludicrous I feel my brow crease in displeasure. I am mildly offended by her reaction, I do not believe being frigid is such a ridiculous thing… not everyone is made to love, not everyone wants to be loved. I actually envy those in this moment, those who remain stoic, cold and unmoved my matters of the heart, for it would be infinitely better than this constant tug of war I feel within myself in regards to the petite brunette.

Looking from her and try to swallow my impatience and annoyance. I am now more than willing to let the matter drop but then she says something that chills me to the bone “Miss Delphine! I am sure there is nothing wrong with you, you are a perfectly normal girl. Just perhaps…you and Monsieur Delvinquiere may need privacy and when you have it well…the rest will take care of itself.”

Take care of itself…I know all too well what that means and I am repulsed by the very thought of it. Not that I have to worry, Felix and I have our agreement; we have even agreed there shall be no consummation of our wedding night and as if that was not enough there is the added benefit of the fact that we share a mutual unattraction…it’s not something I need to worry about. Yet the image plagues me, I imagine his body pressed to mine and shudder. I cannot rid myself of the image as I speak, almost unknown to myself. What we speak of escapes me now…it is a blur compared to what follows. The next thing I know is that she is scooting ever closer to me, and insisting that there is nothing wrong with me, that it is he that is the problem…if only she knew. I fall back onto my pillow and stare at the canopy overhead, wondering if I would have been this way had I had a different upbringing? I am inclined to believe so, but how can I be sure. Is it nature or nurture that has warped me to be the being I am?

But then she huffs impatiently “Look, come here. Sit up.”

I glance to her in surprise and slowly rise…raisingan eyebrow as I notice her eyes flit to my lips and back up. And then she says the words that will both simultaneously feel like I have fallen through the ice on a frozen river, and stepped into an open inferno. “I am going to kiss you.”

Blinking at her in a daze, I ask her, quite stupidly “You are?”

I see her pink tongue dart out to moisten her lips and I shudder in fear or anticipation…I cannot be sure. Cosima looks nervous yet determined…intent. She smiles, one of those breath-taking smiles and almost makes me to laugh when she says, “Yes. We are going to conduct an experiment and test your theory. We will kiss, and then you will at least have something to compare Monsieur Delvinquiere’s kisses with. Then we may find out if it is him, or you who are the issue here.” However any mirth I feel at her little “experiment” fades when the realisation that Cosima intends to kiss me, truly kiss me, sets in.

It is a terrible idea. The worst idea. It is the most foolish thing I could do, to join my lips to hers. I know the instant I do I shall be lost forever, knowing the instant I do, everything I intend to do will become that much harder. I know this and I mutter “I….I don’t know…”

Then any resolve or resistance I had goes out the window when she reaches out, impatient and resolute and cups my face, drawing me to her gently, her eyes searching mine, an undefinable question lurking in their depths before I succumb to the pull, and bring my lips to hers.

 

************

 

 

 I shouldn’t have done it, leaned forward and closed the gap, but I did and the second her lips touch mine it is like time itself stops, the world fades away and the only thing in existence, the only thing that _is_ , is the point where our lips meet. They are softer than I could have ever imagined, they are softer than I ever believed possible, and currently they are pressed against my own, firmly encouraging me to press ever closer.

I feel her breath catch as one of her hands snakes from my cheek to my hair, fixing into my curls and pulling me close while the other still clasps my cheek. One of my own hands rests upon her cheek, as soft as velvet while the other anchors me to her shoulder. We kiss slowly, our movements tender and curious … her mouth is impossibly warm and sweet. I have never been kissed before, but have read enough to know the mechanics of it and it is so much better than I ever thought it would be. As her lips open marginally I cannot help but open my own mouth, drawing her closer and sigh as the tip of my tongue comes in contact with her soft lips. I am caught off guard when a surprisingly loud moan sounds from deep in her throat and she holds me tighter, her grip on my hair becoming almost painful. Encouraged by her enthusiastic response I do the same thing again, but this time am met with her own tongue, and the sensation is celestial.

 

We kiss for what felt both like an eternity and but a fleeting second, and _feel_ my body for the first time in my life, I _feel_ each ounce of heady air that inflates my lungs, the tingle of my skin, the softness of the cushion created by our lips. I feel like I am humming, my blood rushes, I can actually feel it, pulsating through me, bringing heat to zones of my body I barely noticed before, from my scalp, my fingertips, to my toes. Every pore of my skin conscious and aching, goosebumps sprout upon me…my heart hammers and I feel a growing weight pressing upon by abdomen. I allow myself to get lost for a moment, to forget where I am, to forget the plot the deception and just revel in the woman that is pressed against me. I am lost in the ecstasy I feel as her mouth claims mine, only brought back to reality when Cosima pulls herself from me, our lips disconnect and it is as if I have lost something I need for my survival. My lips feel stripped and cold, so frightfully cold without her own against me.

As my eyes open regretfully, and gaze into honey coloured orbs, wide and perplexed looking. Cosima seems to be perturbed, and though momentarily alarmed and disappointed I refuse to believe she didn’t enjoy that kiss…remembering the moan that came from her and move slightly closer but still give her the space she so obviously seeks. Cosima visibly gulps as she slips her hand from my curls, blinks rapidly a few times and perhaps trying to break the tension she says, rather dumbly “See? There is nothing wrong with you, is there? And trust me, you know how to kiss.”

Her words stoke the fire within me higher, and I decide that if that is what it is to be the way I am, to feel the way I do…then she is right; there is nothing wrong with me. When I look at Cosima she seems fearful, uncertain…but at the same time her own body betrays her as she leans towards me. She moves as if in a daze, she reaches out to me with an uncertain hand that curls around the back of my neck while her other raises to her lips to touch the supple flesh that I have so unwillingly been parted from.

I see through it all, Cosima wants me...and I want her, more than I ever thought possible. Looking again to her lips I reach a hand out to clasp her cheek. I hesitate, but just for a second as I lick my lips in anticipation. As I look at her, quivering with trepidation and longing I make up my mind. When I speak my voice is lower than I have ever heard it “I think you may be right, it is not me who is the problem" before reaching out and pulling her to me forcefully, our kiss banishing any caution from our minds as we lose ourselves in each other.

 

*************

 

 

I should have stopped, but how could I have known it would ignite _this_. I thought I knew what wanting was, I thought I knew what lust was, after all I have read about them often enough. Logic told me I wanted Cosima, it told me I loved her, my actions pointed plainly to that fact. However when our bodies collide I am shocked to my core that what I thought I knew was in fact _nothing_ at all. I know nothing.

I had no idea that desire could transform from a vague yearning to an all-encompassing need. I never knew it was possible to ignore all reason, to remain aware of the folly of your actions, but in that moment to simply not care, to throw caution to the wind, to succumb to your body’s desires.

I had thought lust was something that came upon someone like a sneeze, that it was sharp, that it was sudden… but it is not that, at least not for me. Lust I learn with Cosima is something that slowly claims, slowly conquers every tiny part of me. When Cosima presses her lips to mine, the steady heat I was already feeling begins to smoulder hotter, and then extend and reach like vines coiling up my body, its tendrils slowly snaking up and catching hold of every part of me. As the warmth increases the vines turn inwards, pushing into me, into my heart, into my stomach and alighting me from the inside, and then finally, when each vine has marked its place, has claimed its path, I feel a tingling passion building and pulsing from my skin, setting my senses ablaze. I am in a simple word; thoroughly ignited.

Pushing her backwards I know I am too far gone to stop. I decide in that moment to submit to this inferno that seizes me, to forget and ultimately live for this moment. Though I have never done this before, never gone further than letting a fellow grope at me while I sighed in boredom, I know how these things go. Yet I am nervous…ironically enough. It is not that I do not know what to do, in theory I know better than any other girl my age probably. However, theory and reality are two different things. It doesn’t abate my apprehension, it doesn’t prepare me for the onslaught of feeling. It is all happening very quickly, but I know somewhere within me that this is the only time it will happen, the only time it can happen and so disregard my fear and kiss her deeper.

I try not to think, but to feel and relax and as I lose myself in the sensation, my body acts of its own volition, settling upon the tiny brunette as I feel where each curve presses to mine and revel in our kiss. I pause my eager kisses when to my surprise Cosima abruptly lowers her hands and grasps my buttocks, hard. My surprise just lasts for a moment, because as she squeezes the tingling flesh a low groan erupts from her chest and I am encouraged by the noise she makes, and I begin to believe that she wants this as much as I do. Spurred on by her own boldness, I take a deep breath and glide my hand over her body until I reach her breast.

As my hand molds to the supple rise of her peak it is as if something breaks free within me, the floodgates open, I feel a flush of heat and moisture jolt straight to my core and in that moment a single thought seizes me; if I do not have her I shall die. Holding my hand to her bosom, caressing her ample flesh through her gown as she mewls softly revelling in the contact. I pause a moment, breaking our kiss to take her in, her hair askew, lips swollen from kissing. Cosima keeps her eyes closed for a moment and I take the occasion to sit up, to swing my leg over her hips to sit lightly upon them. I watch her gaze at me with wide eyes, and a heaving chest.

 

Straddling her, the blaze inside me is stoked higher. I cannot seem to settle on a rhythm; on one hand I feel nervous, I worry about pushing her too far, too fast, on the other it is as if I am insatiable, that someone has control of my body and acts for me, based on my basest desires. Taking a deep unsteady breath I drop my hands to the hem of my gown and pull it off quickly, discarding of it somewhere behind me before I have a change to doubt myself. My heart hammers, of course Cosima has seen me nude before, countless times but I suddenly feel too forward in my advance, suddenly feel for exposed and fully expect for a second for her to recoil or change her mind when she sees exactly how far I mean to take this.

Biting my lip I dare to look down at the brunette… watch her inhale a long slow steady pull of air as her eyes rake over my naked body from top to bottom. Her eyes widen and her gaze turns dark and purposeful, and butterflies erupt in my stomach. Settling her gaze on my chest Cosima’s tongue darts out as she slowly moistens her lips. When she at last raises her eyes to mine, I see a clear and vibrant plea, and any doubts I may have had are assuaged. Gathering my nerve I chew at the lip captured between my teeth, and decide on my next course of action. Because I mean to take action…I need to. Looking down to the hands that rest upon my naked hips I take them, sliding them up my body unhurriedly, keeping my gaze locked on hers until they reach my breasts.

 Even before she touches me there, my skin vibrates at basic sensation of her hands trailing against my body as I pull them up. When I bring her to my breasts she clasps them immediately and release her, sighing at the pleasurableness of the feeling, unlike all the clumsy fumbling’s I’ve endured before. Cosima’s gaze drops to my bosom as she carefully kneads each mound of flesh, scrutinising every detail taking her own lip between her white teeth and a soft moan escapes her as I tilt my head back basking in the feeling, releasing gasp of my own. I begin to think that this is where it shall end, that this shall be enough to bring me over the edge but then the brunette’s reaction catches me by surprise, Cosima surges forward and kisses me ravenously. It is hard and demanding and so very good that I respond in kind, immediately meeting her with an open-mouthed kiss, sighing into her as I gently bite her plump lip.

It lasts mere seconds however before Cosima pulls back suddenly and drops her mouth to my chest. I gasp at the responsiveness, it is unlike anything I have ever experienced before and as her mouth clamps over one of my nipples and sucks lightly, the sensation shoots directly down to my most intimate of places. I cradle her head as she grows more confident, more demanding and as she bites me slightly I feel a sharp pain that feels so close to pleasure that I don’t want it to stop. I hiss and she carries on, biting and sucking me before soothing over the sensitive skin with her soft tongue. I love it, but despite the urgent need I feel that grows between my legs, I need _her_ , Ineed to see her, to feel her,  need to touch her.

Letting my hands glide down her sides to her hips, where bunched up between my legs is the edge of the material I seek. Cosima continues her apt and sensational attentions on my chest and I inch the robe higher, but then stop for a moment. Despite her enthusiastic participation, I need to make sure that this is ok, need to make sure that Cosima wants _this_ before I go further. Pulling back she disconnects from my chest with a disgruntled sigh before I tilt her head so she can look me in the eye. Asking her without speaking and see her lustful expression turn to something like reverence before she nods slowly and I finally shed her of her nightdress.

When she is stretched out underneath me, I feel every part of my flesh respond. Stirred by the sight of her naked before me, she takes my breath away. Cosima is flawless. I want to spend a lifetime mapping these peaks, exploring these summits and extracting its treasures. Letting my gaze roam freely as I pull back to gain a more complete view. Cosima’s skin is golden, her breasts are ample and rounded, they move and bounce softly in swaying movements as she breathes, marked at their tip with a dusky nipple. Cosima’s stomach is taut and concave, a sure sign that she is holding her breath as I look her over in the candle light. I place my hand on it and she exhales gently, her belly relaxing and I feel the firm muscles move against the skin of the palm of my hand. I sigh contentedly as I let my regard run lower over her body, over the rise of her hipbones down to the small patch of dark curls between her legs. Looking at her another jolt shoots through me and my heart begins to thrum, for the woman is sheer perfection.

Cosima studies me too, offering me a bashful smile as her eyes rove over my flesh. I eagerly lean forward again, both of us enjoying the contact of our naked bodies flush against each other. I am struck in that moment by how happy I am, how content. Biting my lip I shake slightly in awe at how stunning she is. I lay back down upon her, insinuating one leg between her own raising my other to mount her thigh. Cosima’s gaze darkens, her pupils seem stretched to the maximum, barely any hazel remains in their depths and the sight sparks something in me again, moving from reverence, to wanton in an instant.

Kissing her feverishly, my hands snake up to clasp her generous bosom as I continue in my movements, faster still, capturing her erect nipples between forefinger and thumb and rolling them gently, experimentally. I feel her hips move into my own and I drop my gaze to her chest, once again enjoying the gentle sway of them as she respires, before kissing my way down her neck to them and at last taking a breast in my mouth. The way the soft flesh yields to my tongue emboldens me, I take her nipple between my teeth and I savour the touch of the bud tightening between my lips. I let my tongue circle it again and again before latching on and clamping down, and suck hard enough to have her writhing before releasing her to begin the process again. Cosima’s moans and gasps grow louder and louder before I am obliged to cover her mouth with my hand, before I unwillingly move my mouth from its new found favourite activity and lean in to kiss her.

However, when our lips meet this time her tongue seeks entry fiercely, she sucks on my lip and moans into our embrace before pulling me tighter against her, and then rolling forcefully. I am surprised to find myself on my back and her perched above me, a predatory expression I have never before seen as she pushes her leg between my own and nudges me open, spreading me. Cosima pushes her leg tightly against my sex, causing me to moan loudly into the heavy air. Her gaze grows glassy, and she drops her head to kiss me furiously, deeply.

I know I am at the point of no return when Cosima breaks the kiss and smiles, her subtle dimples flash and I can see the tips of her canines poke out from between her lips as she beams down at me.

Biting hard at my lip, desperately try to stop the words escaping me, because they are battling, vying for freedom as my heart, body and soul screams for me to say the words “I love you”. It is Cosima that saves me from myself, leaning down, smirking seductively and nibbling at my lower lip before I release it. She claims it as her own, tugging it slowly, purposefully, and liquefying me completely.

Groaning loudly I pull her to me then hungry, ravenous for more, for all of her. Cosima drops her lips to my neck, and sucks lightly on my pulse point and in doing so shifts. In shifting she brings us closer still. My core blazes and I feel my arousal pooling against Cosima’s insistent thigh. She groans deeply, grinding into me further and lifting my own leg as she moves to straddle it. I gasp as the heat of her own molten sex coming into contact with my flushed skin. We both pant at the connection and, and her expression becomes intent as she looks into my eyes, it stirs me so that I cannot help it; I buck my hips slowly, causing her to cry out noisily. The touch of our sexes pressed together is maddeningly arousing, it has me already close, too close. I am brought closer still to the edge when Cosima raises her hips deliberately and hits me harder still. I moan, long and louder than before and I open my eyes when she abruptly stops and am faced (somewhat to my amusement) with an awestruck expression on Cosima’s face. She does it again, though with slightly more force than before, and as her sex pushes against my own we cry out again in unison. I can see she is pleased with my response because she smiles before doing it again, watching my every move before she begins a steady rhythm and her hips move faster and faster.

 

I pant as her body collides again and again, surprisingly strong, yet tender, her hot skin presses against me, her breasts are melded to my own, bouncing and swaying with every movement. Each kiss intensifies the pleasure, when she moves continues moving her hips and her lips clamps down on my nipple I almost come undone but will myself to hold on, I will myself to continue. I tell myself that I cannot let this be over so soon, I want it to go on forever, but everything has its end, and I tell myself I will not break until I physically can bear no more. We move harder and faster and soon the sound of or sliding skin, our colliding hips and our moans fill the room. I am aware that we must remain quiet but is easier said than done as Cosima’s hand trails down between our roiling bodies, further down still until she slides to my core.

 

When she touches me there, it is everything I need and entirely not enough. As her fingers make first contact, caress me softly and tentatively at first, I cannot help by cry out loudly as my entire body ignites. I have never done this with anyone, not even myself, and am caught off guard by the sensation. Cosima kisses me deeply, her tongue mirrors the movements of her fingers, drawing me in, when a sudden thought crosses my mind…has she done this before? Her assertion and lack of hesitance tells me she has, though almost certainly not with a woman judging by her initial trepidation. Novice or not, her unabashed hunger, her pleasure is palpable as her hesitant movements become centred, confident and determined. I hear myself growl as her fingers trace a wide circle over my sex. She slides through me easily, I am aroused, impossibly so, and when her mouth latches onto my neck my eyes roll back into my head and I begin to gasp for air.

Cosima has gotten into her stride, her fingers follow a specific pattern; she circles me thrice before sliding down in one movement, and back up. Her ministrations have me on edge in mere minutes but when her hand drops again, her fingers linger and I feel her press me gently, teasingly. I know well from my books what she seeks. In a moment the inquisitive finger is caressing me at my entrance teasingly and I cannot stop my hips from surging and in doing so draw her into me, crying out as I feel her slip inside of me. Cosima moans at the contact and buries her face in my neck, inhaling deeply before she kisses me hard on my collarbone. The sensation of her within me is strange, unlike anything I have ever felt before…both exquisitely good and mildly uncomfortable at the same time. She gives me a moment to acclimatise before she stirs again, her hips move and she slides deeper within me, and then withdraws to plunge again with increasing force. Groaning freely, the touch of her no longer feels strange, my body accepts her and instead I cannot bear the idea that the feeling will end. My hips move of their own accord as we push against each other, mouths clashing, chests heaving and crying into the darkness.

She slips out of me to stroke my sensitive bud before slipping into me once more. She pushes me closer to the edge of what I believe is life itself, she works relentlessly, knuckle deep, her heel working insistent circles on the sweetest spot of all and then I break. I cannot keep her name from my cries, I repeat it again and again like a prayer. Then she kisses me deeply before falling back onto the mattress with a light smile on her face and a sheen on her brow.

I look over her body; her cheeks are flushed from her exertions, her body dewy and gleaming in the candle light, a candle that burns low, dangerously low…indicating that the night will soon end. I cannot have the day break, not without having her.

I am nervous, I will not lie. I know what I must do, but wonder if I can do it with the grace and ease that Cosima did…I want to please her. I need to. Taking a deep breath, I run my hand over her silky skin, piping hot to the touch…she gazes at me with wide eyes, pupils blown and sighs as my hand brushes over her skin. I let my hands mould to the soft peak of her breast, kneading her gently, rolling her nipple between my fingers, and trailing feather light touches over the soft mounds until she is panting beside me, eyes clamped shut and chest rising and falling with the rapid pace of her shallow breaths. Cosima’s eyes open and she meets my gaze with a silent plea and I smile, and it gives me the confidence I need to move lower. I spread her thighs apart, rejoicing in her soft mewls and her ragged panting as I slip my hand lower, to touch her the way I have longed to most.

 

When I touch her sex it is nothing like I expect, she is softer than anything I have ever touched. My hands move through her like gliding over brand new velvet. She is wet, enticingly so, and it stirs me to know that I have drawn this arousal from her, this physical expression of want and desire.

I watch her; mesmerised as my hand glides over her inflamed flesh, gauging each twitch and sigh, cataloguing each hitch of breath and as her eyes slowly close decide it simply will not do, that I need her to look at me…need her to see how much I want her, I need to see how much she wants me. I murmur “Ma chérie, don’t close your eyes.” The endearment comes as naturally as breathing. Her eyes fly open and I see a warmth appear in her honey coloured depths as I move over her and begin to shower kisses across her neck and collarbone, drawn to the scent there, the fragrant scent of sweat, mild hints of rose and the undertone that is Cosima’s own. As I let my lips trail over her pulsing neck I keep my fingers moving in steady circles at a languorous pace, I want her to relax, but I don’t want her to get too worked up, this cannot be over so soon…I refuse. Dropping to the place where she is wettest of all I slowly, and gently push myself into her yielding flesh, as she has done to me. I feel her part and then capture me, hot and quivering against my finger that slides ever higher into her depths. I begin a steady rhythm, not too fast, but enough to have her roiling against my hand, and moaning into my neck shamelessly. As my lips trail further over the soft peaks of her breasts I am struck with an idea, something I had read before that seemed odd to me at the time, but here on top of Cosima there is nothing else I would rather do.

I am nervous, but excited. Cosima’s eyes have drifted back shut and I let her be, she is lost in the myriad of sensation as my fingers keep up their slow caress and my lips pay every part of her torso homage…finally low enough I sit myself back onto my knees and look at the glorious sight stretched before me in the candlelight, where I see Cosima open and waiting, her sex flushed and delicate, and extraordinarily exciting.

As my gaze trails over her exquisite body, I lose my breath for a moment, it escapes me completely in a quiet huff when I drop my gaze to the small dark thicket between her legs, and urge her ever so slightly further apart. Cosima is still lost in my touch, but after a moment my fingers stop their journey among the pink swollen folds that now glisten with arousal. I am pulled back from my daze when suddenly a low disappointed whine sounds from Cosima. She opens her eyes and gets a shock when she sees me sat between her legs, eyes trained on the one thing I want most in the world at that moment.

Cosima tries to close her legs but I won’t have it, she cannot hide from me, not now…I want all of her. I need all of her. I intend to do what wanted to do when I began my slow descent down her body, but wonder how she shall react. Prying her legs apart further and biting my lip, I return my fingers to her softness and soothe her gently…Cosima’s breath comes faster than ever as I scoot back slightly and place my hands upon the front of her knees as I gently urge her back. Finally with enough space I glance down and lick my lips in anticipation before moving forward and plant a kiss on the glistening flesh.

I will say, Cosima’s immediate reaction was not quite the one I had hoped for…instead before I really have a chance to explore my newfound territory I am seized and pulled up frantically by the surprisingly strong brunette. Cosima gapes at me, wide eyes and aghast, but I can see in her chocolate depths that there is something that runs deeper, something that runs through her more than the surprise; Cosima is stirred. Wriggling I try to release myself from her grasp but Cosima’s grip doesn’t let up at all. I raise an eyebrow and puzzle about how to proceed…perhaps I should have warned her, but the look on Cosima’s face is priceless as she hisses “What are you doing?!!!. A small smile begins to tug at the corner of my mouth…leaning in and I kiss the troubled pout from her lips gently, before pulling back and smiling deeply “What I want to do. You shall see. Lay back, please”.

I embrace the tingle of anticipation I feel as Cosima ponders it for a moment, but finally acquiesces, allowing me to lay her back and to open her to me once again. This time I take the time to settle myself comfortably on my stomach, unable to contain the sound of pure want that slips from me seeing Cosima spread-out before me, waiting for me to take her. She is still anxious and watches everything I do, leaning slightly on her elbows to observe me, her gaze is locked to mine, both beseeching and nervous. I take my time, giving her a moment to relax as I breathe her in, locking eyes with her, leaning forward and gently extend my tongue draw it slowly, purposely upwards through her.

Firstly, I shall say though I have read about this act, it in no way prepares one for the reality of doing it. Cosima’s heat draws me in, her taste is indescribable and when her arousal touches my tongue it is a shock, it is new, and strange but it is also satisfying and addictive. Losing myself in her, my eyes slide closed and I revel in every sensation I feel, every twitch and moan I draw from her, as I press myself deeper and draw my tongue up to press the swollen bud that causes her to whimper every time I draw near to it. I circle it, and then take it between my lips sucking slightly before opening my mouth to sweep around it once again with a lazy tongue.

Cosima’s reaction to this is instantaneous, her previously low symphony of moans become louder until I sweep through her once again and she heaves in a deep breath, before moaning my name at the top of her lungs, into the stillness of the slumbering house. Her cry is loud, astonishingly so, and my head whips up in panic. If we are heard, should someone come to investigate, the sounds she makes are unmistakable and the fact she has said my name, though thrilling for me, is also an implicating factor. Though it irks me, as her cries are like a concerto to my ears, she must be quieter.

As soon as my lips part from the swollen flesh with an audible pop Cosima’s head whips up, she grunts in frustration, oblivious to the commotion she was creating “Hush. Cosima, you need to be a little quieter, ma cherie.” Cosima whines again and I cannot resist asking, a blush searing through me as I ask bashfully “So, does it feel good?”

Cosima’s response is enough to make my heart soar; she looks at me, her dark eyes which are almost opaque bore into me and she nods frantically…and then to my shock she grabs me, and pushes me back down onto her. Her eagerness stirs my own and I apply myself with renewed vigour, I had been enjoying myself thoroughly but now need more, I need her to come undone breathing my name upon her lips and so set up a new pace, faster and firmer, and filled with purpose.

Cosima roils against me, her small compact body tensing and releasing as her hips roll against my voracious mouth. I love it. I bring one of my hands from above her thigh and draw it under and up to her core. Slowing the pace of my tongue as I take my digit and slowly push it into the impossibly warm and wet flesh, further, until I am within her up to the hilt. It is almost enough to send her over the edge directly but I keep my movements slow, letting her adjust as I move my finger in and out, causing her to release a low desperate cry.

I moan in response, another flush of moisture making itself known between my legs as I continue on, enjoying the sensation of Cosima clenching around me, of my tongue driving her to climax. I keep this up for several minutes until Cosima’s cries become ragged and low keening and I decide it is time to put her out of her suspense; pumping and pulling my finger within her as I bring my lips to her delicate bud and suckle upon it lightly. With that Cosima’s body heaves, she convulses, the muscles in her stomach clenching and releasing like rapid fire as she cries my name again and again. I stay with her through it all, draining every last pulse from her inner flesh before she yields under me, entirely spent.

Awestruck. Awestruck is what am as I slip my hand from between her legs and pull up to lay beside the still quivering brunette. Reality is perched at the corner of my mind, but I will not permit it entry, not yet. It shall soon be sunrise, I can already see the dim light through the drawn canopy curtains. I push it all away, and turn to look at the brunette, who gazes at me, still trying to catch her breath, her jaw slack and her eyes filled with wonder. She grabs me abruptly into a deep kiss but I yield almost immediately, losing myself in the sweeps of her soft tongue, the tenderness of her lips.

We kiss for what seems like an eternity…I keep my eyes clamped shut, because I know beyond the curtains dawn is breaking, that the night, _this_ night is coming to an end and it breaks my heart. I feel a tear leak from my eye and Cosima pulls away, a gentle expression on her face as she wipes the drops away one by one. I love her, I love her so much and the truth stings more than it ever has as she smooths my curls from my face, and then showers me with frantic chaste kisses, anywhere her lips reach. Her attentions draw a soft giggle from my lips and cause more tears to fall, but she presses on chuckling to herself as she mutters words I don’t understand between earnest kisses. I decide to not dwell on the day that breaks, but rather to savour what is left of the night, little as it is.

Tonight I will let myself love her in my entirety, tonight I give her my heart to keep, to take with her, because I know after what happened tonight I cannot, I will not, ever love another. Pulling her to me and wrap my longer frame around her petite body and let myself savour the feeling. Morning will come, it always does…but right in that moment decide I do not care. I feel exhaustion pull at my eyelids as I fall into a thick dreamless sleep.

 


	15. Stab The Body And It Heals, But Injure The Heart And The Wound Lasts A Lifetime.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The double double cross has come to a head and now we view things from Delphine's point of view. 
> 
> Thanks to Tyrlonandperisphere and Tatarrific for taking a gander at this for me and as always a shout out to my good old buddy Mad who has put up with all my terrible writing since the beginning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *enters room silently*  
> *places hardcopy of fic on the floor*  
> *backs away silently*  
> *closes door quietly behind her*
> 
> Better late, than never... right?

 

  **Chapter 15:**

The next morning my eyes open slowly and painfully in the weak morning light and squinting against the brightness I see Cosima’s sitting straight up in bed, her back as rigid as a board. As my lashes flutter it all hits me at once; the memory of the way her body moved upon me, the way I touched her, tasted her and it is all that I can think of. Half believing it is a dream I clamp my eyes shut and try to use reason to calm me… it cannot truly be real? However as full consciousness makes its way upon me, I become aware that I am nude, completely so, and then I feel it; that boneless fatigue, the aching limbs. It was real.

I will myself to silence, to stillness though my panic makes it hard to keep calm, to keep quiet, to not launch myself from the bed and push her from me, or worse pull her to me and embrace her.Cosima is awake beside me though believes me asleep and I dare to risk a brief glance at the girl through my fluttering lashes. I cannot see her face but I can tell by her rapid shallow breaths that she is panicking.

While the fog of sweet memories filter slowly from my mind, dread and regret automatically take their place… now fully awake, one thing is clear… I have made a terrible mistake. After all, what _was_ last night? Was it an aberration for Cosima; a deviation from her role…as it was for me? Or worse still, was it simply the next step in her plan; keeping me distracted, playing me? I can still feel her move against me and I _want to believe_ what we had last night was real, that she was laying _with me_ and not just fulfilling her role as my betrayer and possible whore, but doubt clouds my mind.The reality is that I cannot trust that Cosima lay with me for my own sake and not _his_. 

There is also the fact that my obligations shall now be harder than ever, for Cosima who admittedly the object of my affections was always never to be had, could never have and that from saved me from the worst of it… from true hopelessness. I believed I was in love with her before but now having held her, kissed her, touched her, tasted her, and allowed my heart to fleetingly let her truly in, find that I cannot see beyond her. I have fallen so deeply for her and I cannot see a way out. 

Needing air I sit up quickly, having completely forgotten I am nude. Cosima jerks a little beside me, her dark eyes flitting to me then away and I am painfully aware how much of our skin is on display.Desperation and panic mounts until my eyes spy the pale bunched up fabric at the end of the bed and I surge towards it in relief, pulling on the dressing gown, attempting to cover my shame, trying to hide; hide from my weakness, hide from myself and all I feel. 

Cosima actually looks at me properly for the first time, her eyes are wide and frightened as she reaches over and grabs the nightgown that trails on her side of the bed and pulls it on, before wordlessly slipping from the bed. I watch in silence as Cosima begins preparing water to bathe with, as she has done every morning before. 

Except, this morning is like no other and my hammering heart increases its pace two-fold, leaving me lightheaded and struggling to draw a breath. I feel trapped, cornered like a wild animal; for Cosima has seen my basest and most unusual of desires and allowed me to fulfil them. Despite the intimacy of last night I am still unable look at her; I am afraid, afraid of what I shall see in my eyes, afraid of what I shall say. Despite the regret and panic I feel there is a part of me that leans towards her more than ever before, a part of me that desires nothing more than to pull her into my arms and pepper her troubled brow with kisses, but I refuse it and rise from the bed, ignoring the new ache in my muscles. 

Stepping from the bed,I realise a second too late that the gown I wear is not my own; riding well above my knee. I glance at the small brunette and see she wears mine, the difference in our heights causing the long nightdress to fall long past where it is supposed to. I almost laugh at the blatant evidence of last night’s actions, but to do so would be to admit it out loud, and neither of us are ready nor willing to do so. 

We still do not look at each other; Cosima avoids my glare completely as she totes the bowl over and places it at my feet. My anxiety flares and my control starts to slip at the prospect of her bathing me causing my hands to shake and tremble harder still at the thought of her hands upon me, washing away the product of last night while pretending it never occurred. I know I shall not be able to bear it and even though it might make things more complicated between us, make my own unease known, even though it is unheard of for a Lady to bathe herself… I tell myself if is not worth the discomfort and and send her from me. 

I cannot completely suppress the hurt I feel at the sight of her expression when I tell her; the evident relief Cosima feels at getting away from me, from escaping _this_ … from escaping us. I tell myself what I did last night in the fading darkness, that what we had, ended when the sun rose. That those feelings and actions are not meant for the day… not meant to be at all. Convincing myself with a heavy heart, I begin to undress and scrub at my skin roughly, washing away the remnants of our time together; the sweat, the scent of her on my skin, rubbing at myself so hard it is as if I am trying to scour away my feelings, scour away the pain, though hard as I wash, the ache in my heart doesn’t ebb.

XXX

 

Once washed I make a poor job of dressing myself in my underclothes, avoiding the mirrors, unable to stand seeing the shame on my own face when I so clearly saw it reflected on Cosima’s. My shame is for a different reason from hers, though. I am not ashamed to have lain with a woman, it was a pleasing experience and one I would not regret had that woman not been my opponent, not been my mark…If she wasn’t here to betray me. Struggling into a gown I huff with frustration when I am unable to fasten it, and with a disgruntled sigh and ill grace I call Cosima back in. She comes in fully washed and dressed and walks directly to me before wordlessly and hurriedly fastening the dress, not even expressing surprise that had taken it upon me to dress myself.. but then again, perhaps there is nothing to say about it.

As soon as the dress is closed Cosima steps from me quickly, remaining silent, saying nothing until I turn and toss my hair over one shoulder. I see her expression then, her eyes fixated at the pulse point on my neck and then observe a deep red blush creeps up her neck and into her face. My heart begins to hammer once again, my blood thrums and fidget nervously before asking her, “What?”

Her eyes drop, she tries to sound matter of fact but there is a quake in her voice that betrays her “Miss, we need to change your dress.” 

Trying not to expose my own uncertainty I am short with her, haughtily demanding  "Change my dress?” Cosima struggles, stuttering nonsense as I impatiently ask “Why?"

Cosima, growing redder in the face, silently motions toward the mirror in lieu of a response and my patience wears ever thinner.With a huff I turn to the mirror and my eyes are immediately drawn to the livid purple blotch that lies just above my collarbone. My breath hitches at the sight of the mark, at the evidence, at the _PROOF_ that what we had done last night was real. After a moment I force my eyes away from the blemish turn shakily to see a clearly mortified and rather guilty Cosima. I say nothing, do not scold her for marking me but instead feign a nonchalance I do not feel. “Indeed Cosima… this will not do at all. Bring me my dark green dress please, and hurry for I must go to my Uncle soon.”

Cosima practically runs to the armoire knowing full well the extent of my uncles temper, all awkwardness is lost as we desperately wrestle the red gown from my body and pull on the green one. Cosima’s hands move in quick practised movements as she tightens the corset and closes the buttons. My hair is a catastrophe but there is little to be done and as she closes the buttons on the high neck of the gown my hands are busied with my hair, desperately trying to tease it oder. Both of us are so focused on the consequences of my possible lateness that neither of us notice our positions; Cosima and I stand breast to breast. Her hands are on my neck as she fastens the buttons while mine are raised above my head, bent at the elbow, trying to tame my unruly curls. When we stop, my arms lower and fall to her shoulders, her fingers, having closed the last button linger on my neck; We are close. So close. 

Then Cosima, to my surprise… leans in and kisses me. My eyes stay open a split second, a feeble attempt at resistance but I cannot help myself; I sink into her, kissing her back with everything I possess. I lose myself in it until I hear the tolling of the bell and Cosima jerks away from me with a start. We stare at each other a moment until Cosima drops her gaze from mine and turns away. My lips feel exposed, flayed and my mind roils, throughly confused. I take my leave in silence, rushing towards the library, thoughts of the other woman plaguing my mind.

XXX

My confusion is a torment. Even though I try to impress on myself that this flurry of emotion is one sided…that I am being played rather than playing the game but my mind tells me things my heart refuses to hear. 

Why _did_ Cosima kiss me this morning?

I need answers, the scientist at heart within me needs to quantify what happened, needs to reason it out and so I begin dissecting what happened and forming theories as to why, piece by piece. Cosima kissed _me_ first, she touched me and eventually yielded to me, but the question that begs answering is _why?_ One possibility is of course, that this is all part of Cosima’s great scheme… that she picked up on my Sapphic tendencies and is using herself to keep me occupied while she and Felix lay their plans. The other possibility is that she could simply have been drugged, it is true that we smoked more than ever before… and I, reckless in my folly, allowed my feelings for her to fuel the fire, to spur me on, to ignite her. To ignite us.

Could Cosima be like me? Cosima could merely desire me… she certainly seemed to last night, though maybe she is not like me at all. Perhaps it was simple loneliness that caused her to turn to me, it is not unheard of in my uncle’s books. Cosima has been a long time at the manor and though she has never mentioned a courtship it could be that she simply misses intimacy. 

Or…could it be that Cosima actually feels _something_ for me?- I do not say love… though I wish it to be so. I hate myself for how much the fleeting thought brings me a burst of joy. 

Yet what of it if she does? Even if Cosima was like me, even if she loved me… it doesn’t actually change anything. We are here to do what we are to do. She is still here to con me, she is still here for me to usurp her place in life. True love or not, I am bound, entrapped in this misery of my own making, bound to the execution of the plot. My options are limited; lose my love or to submit to a life of imprisonment and abuse with my depraved uncle. One way or another I am bound to suffer, but I cannot stay here at the Manor, not with that man… I would rather die. 

Then there is also the fact that Felix made it perfectly clear what he shall do should I dare to let him down, to make me pay for my weakness. I do not take his threat idly, he is a malicious man and I envisage him happily telling my uncle everything. And Monsieur Leekie… he would make sure I never again saw the light of day again, he would shut me away and I would be left completely at his mercy… the mercy of a lecherous man who possesses none. 

I promised myself I would never yield to him, and I won’t, that much is true but I am left with few options otherwise. There is the obvious of course… I suppose I might kill myself, after all my life has never been much dear to me, but in saying that I do not truly _wish_ to die. 

I wish to have a chance to live at life; my nineteen years have been spent in misery, stifled, cowed, suffocated by the weight of my own desolation. Living is something I want to try and last night, I got a taste of what it can truly be like to be alive. My brief glimpse was glorious, glorious enough to have made me fonder of my own life than I ever have been before. 

I must try not to let myself idealise this love I feel, to not let myself believe Cosima would ever really feel for me the same way, that I would be enough for her, because at the end of the day I know that even if Cosima felt something for me… it is not _me_ she feels it for. 

The harshest reality of all perhaps is the simple fact that Cosima doesn’t know me. She knows the kind, patient Delphine, perhaps a bit odd and bookish but just an average girl, too sheltered from the world. Cosima doesn’t know that I am cold, harsh, violent and cruel, she doesn’t know the filth that has filtered into my blood, from the fingers stained with the black, heavy ink from the vulgar texts I read. She doesn’t know about the lewd world in which I stew.

Cosima has no idea of the twisted bitter creature my uncle has created, his perverse intentions that I battle against at all costs. If I were to tell her, to tell her everything about me… about OUR plot, mine and Felix’s, our devious intentions, about my uncle and his books, she would be disgusted.

Cosima could never love the real me, this broken excuse for a person that I am. One way or another this game will come to its end, and I cannot keep up this charade for ever.At the end of the day, I am what I am and I steel myself to my fate, because I shall never be anything else. 

When I return to Cosima’s company that afternoon she is changed with me, as if she never kissed me at all… she is cold and distant and I can tell she has had a simpler conversation to the one I have had with myself. I can physically see her close herself off, from me, and I let her. I am mildly grateful because I cannot afford to believe that she would ever allow herself to love me back.

XXX

Days pass then, as if in the blink of an eye. They are miserable days, infused with hardship, with longing with inevitability, days that pass with anticipation and dread, because each one that slips by draws us ever closer to the end. 

Cosima avoids me as much as she can and I let her. Since that one kiss there has been nothing between us, it is as if we both have taken stock of reality, of what we have to lose, of the game we still continue to play. Cosima avoids my gaze, my touch… everything, and seeing her so rigid and closed off, I give her the distance she so obviously craves, sealing myself in my own fortress of indifference that has only faltered once so far.

The night after we had lain together, I don’t think I fully understood the scale of the change us having laid together would make.I think some part of me held out a shred of hope after the kiss that morning despite all my self-castigations and berating, that there would be… could be something between us. I laid in bed the night after, waiting with both trepidation and excitement for Cosima to come to bed, to sleep with me as she always has done. Instead, Cosima came in and stood by the foot of my bed, glasses removed, in her nightgown, hair undone, spilling down her shoulders in a mahogany curtain, candle in hand. She looked at the spot where she usually laid, glanced back up to me and down again with an uncertain look upon her face. She did not meet my eye as she said; “Miss, I feel under the weather, and I dare say I do not wish to make you ill. Perhaps it would be better if I were to sleep in my own room.”  


Any hope I had, little as it was … died then. The clear shame on her face was like a slap to mine, and it occurred to me that she is disgusted by me. It hurt more than I thought it would and when she rejected me I acquiesced, of course I did, with a neutral “Of course, Cosima. Goodnight.” I cannot force her to love me, instead I turned on my side and waited to hear the closing of the door before allowing the small shuddering sob to escape my chest. 

I fell asleep eventually, my palm tucked against my cheek, stiff from the salt of my tears. It was only when I woke, alone and screaming in the darkness, and when she didn’t come to calm me that I finally accepted the plot was to go ahead, that there was nothing between us, that she had chosen him… over me. 

Once that was clear, the bitter truth that the scheme was to go ahead, I let all else go. and I apply to the execution of the plan with the grim acceptance that I have learned throughout my life. It is clear that Cosima means to see this through until the end, and therefore so must I. I do not resent her for it, not at all… my feelings are my own fault, this pain is of my own making and though hurt initially that Cosima no longer calms my dreams, that my love is unrequited, and that she has chosen Felix, I tell myself that the girl is merely a more dedicated con-woman than I. 

I do not resent her, but I resent myself more than I ever thought possible; what infuriates me most is that no matter how much my heart breaks that she doesn’t want me… I still want her in my entirety. What is maddening is how much I want to keep her safe, safe from Felix, safe from me when she herself cares for nothing but the money she will make from my demise. 

I want to save her, but I know that there is no going back now; our paths are paved, and the only way is to halt in place, or keep moving forward. I refuse to stop where I am, to stay trapped in this hellhole, as much as I want her and though hurts, I relish it. It is clear to me now that I cannot harden my heart, that I cannot stop loving her, but what I can do is embrace my love in the darkest way… I can suffer for it, and I fully intend to.

 

XXX

 

You already know how this part of the story finds it end, and perhaps you judge me but know you will never be as harsh a judge as I am on myself.

The end begins on an early April morning. Monsieur Delvinquiere has finished his work for my uncle to the old man’s satisfaction and he receives his payment and his dismissal from my uncles service. The household sees him off, we stand before the old Manor as he thanks each servant graciously, shakes my uncles hand and places two dry kisses upon his cheeks and thanks him for the work. At last Felix turns to me, his dark eyes glittering and a subtle smirk on his full lips as he leans in and places a single kiss on my cheek. It is brief, aware of the watchful eyes of my uncle but he whispers hurriedly “I shall be back tonight. Be sure to be waiting for me at the river. Stay strong, the rest will be over before you know it.

The rest is a blur, all I remember next is the door of Felix’s carriage sealing with a heavy thunk, the sound scoring the end of the game we play.I watch the carriage leave in both relief and misery, he is gone, but tonight he returns for me; Delphine Cormier. Today is the last day of my existence and tonight I will be in some miserable shabby church vowing before God that I will take Felix Delvinquiere until death do us part. 

I don't much believe in God, but death is a certainty. It happens to all of us, sooner or later, and in a way… my death is tonight. After all, marriage in itself _is_ a death of sorts, the second the priest declares us man and wife, Delphine Cormier will cease to exist and Delphine Delvinquiere shall take her place. The moment Felix’s dry lips press against mine, everything I ever was or was going to be will die, and the only thing that will matter of is the name I bear as that man’s wife. 

If I were not only going to be married to the man for a week the idea of being so thoroughly _erased_ would discomfit me, but this is what I want, this is what I need.Delphine Cormier’s misery will die with her, and any vow until death do her part will go with Delphine Delvinquiere to the madhouse. 

Then, Cosima Niehaus will be low and beholden to no one. I shall for the first time in my life will be at complete liberty. At least this is what I tell myself when I feel Cosima’s arm ghost against my own as we watch the carriage trundle away, I try to steel myself, to make myself believe that this magnificent freedom is worth it’s cost; the cost of my heart, soul and the captivating young woman beside me.Yet try as I might I do not entirely succeed.

 

XXX

After Felix’s departure the rest of the day passes as if nothing is amiss. It is irritatingly mundane and though spared my labour in the library for the day, I know that I must face Monsieur Leekie for dinner and I dread it. Now Felix is gone my fear is palpable… I shall have no shield when in my uncle’s presence, and though dining itself is relatively safe I know I shall have to read to him after in the drawing room, alone…and this terrifies me.   
  
When called to dinner I go most unwillingly. I am tense and as I take my place at the table I can tell he sees it; the fear… I can tell that he _enjoys it._ Sitting across for him in the cold, dour dining room I stare resolutely at my bloody meat swimming in the white of the plate and I feel my stomach roll. I avoid his merciless gaze as best I can and keep my knife close to hand, my nerves on edge. Out of my periphery I watch his every move as he watches mine. My Uncle knows my suspicions and revels in them, playing further to my fears, his pale eyes cold and hard as he lecherously stares at me throughout the entire meal like a wolf circling its prey. Though he has yet to attack his very prowling presence has me mad with fear, and this is his goal.

When the meal ends I find have begun to shake and when my uncle stand and slowly ambles over to my side of the table. He stands over me, and I stare straight ahead, refusing to yield to the fear entirely. Seconds tick by like hours and despite my reseolve I can’t stop myself from flinching when he places his clammy hand on my shoulder, his voice malicious and coy when he says “ You are dismissed Delphine. There shall be no reading tonight. I wish to be well rested tomorrow, you shall see we have much…to do. You will come to the library at eight as usual.” 

The words fill me with dread, and the slight squeeze of my shoulder before his hand lifts fills me with revulsion. He hovers a second more, a flithy smirk on his face as he mutters “Wear the red dress tomorrow Delphine.” before taking his leave with a chuckle.I am disgusted but relieved that I shall be spared… tonight. I raise myself trembling and tell myself to shake it off… that I shall not be here tomorrow… that I have nothing to fear, but my stomach clenches and releases uncontrollably and fear causes me to break out into a cold sweat.I resent the effect the man has on me, I resent that I fear him, that I have cause to fear him. I resent what he has done to me, what he has reduced me to. I resent he has faced me to do to escape him. Tramping up to my rooms in a fury, I feel tightly wound, the ball of energy in my stomach expanding by the second.

Minutes later I burst into my room, completely lost in my thoughts ranting about the despicable connard until I hear a muffled sob behind me. Wheeling around in surprise I see Cosima standing by the divan, trying to keep her face turned from me, but she cannot hide how her shoulders shake with poorly suppressed tears.

My first reaction, instinct really… is to go to her, to reach out to her… to comfort her. My feet even spur me forward, however a second too late I realise that any advances on my part are unwelcome and so unsure I freeze mid pose, like some miserable marionette doll; hand lifted and extended, uncertainty in every ridged line of my stance. After a beat I lower my arms and try to impose some sense of order and decorum to my feelings but even still I find I cannot turn away completely from her sadness. The question comes out stilted, but sincere when I ask “Cosima? Are you all right? Why were you crying?”

Willing myself to stay cold and hard of heart, I regret my inquiry immediately but as I watch her slip down in one fluid movement onto the chaise longue, my resolve breaks as the sobs she can no longer contain burst free in loud gasping shots. Seeing her like this, seeing her so… distraught breaks my heart despite everything. Taking a deep breath I push my screaming reason away and move to the divan, lowering myself beside her and gather the small woman in my arms. I hold Cosima then; not for desires sake but for comfort and for her, and admittedly perhaps comfort for myself too. At first Cosima lies stiff in my arms and I relax my grip fearing she finds my attempt to sooth her untoward but a second later she sighs into me, her body relaxes and her arms anchor to me as she cries into my dress. My arms encircle her once more and I hold her tight. In that second the true weight of what I am to do to the woman in my arms hits me like a train as I am flooded with immeasurable remorse as the sobs wrack her tiny frame. I don’t know exactly why Cosima is crying but I believe it has something to do with Felix and the plot… I suppose for a second she might feel guilty and it just increases my dismay. 

The girl has no idea… none at all and it occurs to me that this will likely be the last time I will ever get to hold her. The guilt and grief swallows me because Cosima will never how how much I wish it had not come to this. She will never know, to could never believe that I am not doing this to hurt her, that I am doing it only because I have no choice.

It becomes too much and I make to release her from my embrace but she slumps against me, letting out a light and disgruntled noise and I glance down to see closed eyes; dusty lashes and her lips parted, releasing shallow puffs of air. Cosima has fallen asleep, in my arms. Tears spring to my eyes and I let them fall with none to see them. Guilt scalds me as the peaceful thief dozes in my embrace but I suffer through it because with what I am do to to her, bringing her any semblance of comfort is the least I can do. I sit for over an hour and let the guilt eat away at me, watching the clock while the woman I love slumbers on in my arms. I watch until my own eyes grow heavy and the hour late… and then it is time to wake her. 

“Chéri-…Cosima. You must wake up, we need to prepare. We are to meet Monsieur Delvinquiere in two hours.” Cursing myself for the slip, I feel my face turn rose as the term of endearment fights free. 

Once woken Cosima sits up in an instant, her eyes wild, hair dishevelled and she looks so heartbreakingly young that is all I can do not to let the tears fall again, I ask her though I know I should shore up the walls between us “Feeling better?” and Cosima offers me a tentative smile before standing and patting smooth her dress. Cosima seems to gather her breathe a moment before turning to me with a determined expression on her face as she says “Perhaps we should change Miss?” 

I look at the clock; just a little over an hour before we must make our escape. This is happening, truly happening and with that realisation it is as if someone has doused me in an instant with icy cold water; water that numbs me. I rise and nod silently and we ready ourselves; changing into a dark dress for travelling while Cosima frantically rattles off a long list of things she has packed. 

It seems she has everything but what I deem to be most important. In a daze I walk to the set of drawers and unlock them, emptying it’s contents and passing them to Cosima, who stows them away carefully. Taking a deep breath I check the parlour once more before returning to watch a tense Cosima hover by the bags, dressed in her boots, her Bordeaux dress and a dark cloak. The hour grows late, but there is one more thing I need to do. A retribution of sorts that I have been planning for as long as the plot has been in motion. The act in itself is terribly risky it’s worth it, it is worth risking everything as far as I am concerned but I shall need Cosima to leave me for a short time to accomplish it. 

More nervous than I have ever been before I take a deep unsteady breath and speak “Cosima, I would like some time by myself, to get my thoughts in order…would you leave me please?”

Cosima looks surprised but gives no argument and slips into her room. As soon as her door is fastly shut I step to my own door and quietly, silently open it. Tossing one glance to the closed door between out rooms I steal away down the creaking staircase and head to the scullery, gathering what I have deemed I shall need before heading to the cellar.

XXX

 

The door is locked of course, but I know where my uncle stows the spare key. He doesn’t know this of course, I have kept the information secret for years… just waiting, waiting until I have my chance. 

Stepping into the dank cellar I look about me in the candlelight, it is as dark and oppressive as ever, but somehow looks smaller than it ever did before. Shaking myself from my reveries, I curse myself for wasting time, set the candle on the table, move to the bookshelves, and begin my work.

As I was all those years ago; I am methodical and efficient. I begin with his most prized and expensive books, removing them and setting them in the middle of the cellar floor before encircling them with thicker, heavier leather bound books; books that will be much slower to burn and that will for at least a short time, contain the blaze that I intend to make. 

I make the circle is wide, giving me room to work, and satisfied I have accumulated a good portion of my uncles most prized copies, I open a book to a random page and then with a shiver tear out a page. The sound of ripping paper sparks a sort of frenzy within me; fury seizes me as I tear page after page, throwing each to make a small pile beside me. I then toss the open book onto the growing pile behind me, seize another and another, adding to the pile of books until I am a panting sweating mess. I work quickly but the time is not lost on me and I force myself to stop and check the pocket watch in my dress quickly, noting with disappointment that already 25 minutes have passed. I must hurry and finish. 

I bend and collect the pile of loose pages, along with the few rags that I have brought and step within the circle to plant them at strategic points throughout the pile, stuffing them tightly between the leather bound covers. 

Regarding the pile with a satisfied nod I then step to my uncle’s desk and lift the heavy index, bringing it to the centre of the room. With a shaking hand I reach and seize the jar of paraffin oil, looking at the thousands of pages of my uncles life’s work and I falter. 

If I do this… there is no going back. I can hear the second tick by as my nerves flutter. I scream at myself to do it; it is now or never, and I am out of time. Gathering my courage I douse the index in the thick oil before moving to the pile and placing at the very top of the solid mound have created. 

With another glance at my watch I step back and wipe my hands before taking the candle in hand and bend. I begin by setting each paper alight at the bottom of the pile and once they are all lit and the small flames growing, i move well back and toss the candle into the middle of the pile. For a second the candle lands squarely on the index, before rolling off its wide pages and onto the floor where it is snuffled out. However, its glancing contact was enough, the flame catches immediately on the oil and before the candle even hits the floor the index has burst into flame. 

I watch it burn for a moment, making sure it truly catches aflame and the darkness ebbs as the fire grows. Striding to the window, I open it in the hope that that more oxygen will fuel the burning mound and that the worst of the smoke will escape through it, prolonging the time before the alarm that will surely be raised. 

Pausing for one more moment I glance again to the burning books, to my uncle’s treasures and feel relief so deep it brings tears to my eyes.Seeing the index blacken, the life’s work of my uncle crumble and curl in on itself…the soul copy of it so thoroughly destroyed, I feel a teary smile break across my features and deem that it is time to take my leave. If I could burn them all I would… but am out of time.

Closing the door fast behind me, locking it as I go, I pull the chair over to block it further before remounting the stairs. I have been longer than I should have been, and shall have to rush.I sprint up the stairs two steps at a time, whirling into the room, seizing my bags and knocking on her door more frantically than I probably should. I am not sure what my face holds when she opens the door but Cosima’s eyes open with surprise and I don’t give her time to question, no time to wonder because we will have little more 15 minutes before the fire passes its leather confines and perhaps a little more before the house is woken. Cosima and I must leave. Now.

 

XXX

 

Cosima follows me without question and we gather our things and slip through the house, all in silence. I strain my ears to hear the tell-tale crackle of fire but to my relief there are none. It seems that the fire has been well contained… for now.

Finally reaching the back door we pause a second to catch out breaths before Cosima turns the key in lock and turns the handle. The sound of shrieking metal jars the deep silence of the house and we both pause, hearts in our mouths, cursing the sound before breathing again. With one last look to each other we nod as the door swings open and slip out into the night. I glance back once to the cellar window and can just make out a faint smoke leaking out in the moonlight. The flames have caught, and well it seems. Satisfied I begin to stride forward faster, harder… I stride away from my past and towards my future. 

Having walked this path so many times I am confident of my way, so the darkness is no great trial for me and though Cosima struggles to keep up, she manages. Soon enough we arrive at the riverside, awaiting with terrible anticipation for the appearance of Felix. 

We wait for several minutes, both of us apprehensive and lost in our thoughts. We do not speak but stay silent in the darkness; silence that remains unbroken until we hear the tiny boat make its approach. The night is still and quiet, the only sound being the rhythmic beating of the oar carving through water and our own heavy breathing. 

The moon is high and eventually we make out the darkened form make its slow and ill-omened approach. The wait for him to reach us is torturous and I fret endlessly, worrying about the fire, fearing the alarm shall be raised any second, that my uncle will come barrelling towards me out of the darkness… but nothing comes. Felix approaches at his snail’s pace, his ragged breathing mingling with the sound of the water lapping against the boats edge as he finally pulls up to the bank. 

His brow glints with sweat in the moonlight and he motions to us wordlessly to throw him our bags. We toss the heavy cases which Felix catches with a barely audible grunt and stows them away silently in the vessel. Getting into the unstable boat on the bank of a steep river however an elegant nor simple affair; Cosima holds it steady as I clamber in, my long legs helping me bridge the worrying gap without too much difficulty. Cosima however doesn’t have the benefit of an extra hand to anchor the boat to the bank and has to jump, her short stature and dress making it a difficult feat. Cosima leaps and makes it into the boat but she lands clumsily; I feel her strike herself of the edge with a sharp bang, causing her to yelpalarmingly loud into the stillness of the night. Then she flounders, her arms wheeling desperately as she almost tumbles back into the water until my arms reach out to pull her back, stopping her from toppling back into the river. Cosima slips down beside me, casting me a grateful glance that makes my heart squeeze while Felix gives her a gold glower, displeased by the commotion that chills me to the bone. 

Finally settled our tedious and gut wrenching journey downstream to the rendezvous with the carriage begins. The further we inch closer to the end, the more frightened I become…is this really happening? Did I really torch my Uncles life’s collection, set flame to his life’s work? Am I really to be married, tonight? It doesn't feel real… yet it is. 

After an eternity we draw to the bank where our carriage awaits us. We disembark the rickety boat without incident but when I see the carriage that will bring to my wedding almost balk, doubt seizing me like a vice. I risk a glance at Cosima who stares at it wide eyed and as pale as I have ever seen her, and I wonder if she is doubting this whole affair as much as I am, but then Felix comes behind us, urging us forward and Cosima’s lips press into a grim line as she stands forward. 

It is clear to me then that what ever I wish Cosima to feel is not so. Cosima obviously means to see this through, right until the end and so I I let hollowness envelop me and my doubt slip away. I mount the steps into the carriage and sit in the darkness staring resolutely ahead, tasting blood from the inside of my raw cheek that bleeds from my incessant, anxious chewing.

In the dark and swaying carriage I ask myself; can I truly go through with this? Can I marry the brute? Looking at Felix in the dimness, I see him; pale, slender and pretty, but shrouded by a darkness that seems to reflect his heart. Swallowing the sudden rush of bile I acknowledge the fact that even though the marriage is just technicality but the idea of becoming Delphine Delvinquiere, for no matter how little a time still frightens me. I have lived my entire life as Delphine Cormier, and as miserable as that is, it is all I know. 

I spare a glance at Cosima who stares at the twitching hands in her lap. I observe the moonlight as it streams in from the wagons tiny window, illuminating half her face even in this obscurity that cloaks the three of us. No matter where she is, it seems to me in that moment that Cosima is luminous, even as treacherous as I know her to be. 

The sickness in my stomach grows the closer we draw to the church, a small dilapidated little thing that sits in the middle of a scrubby field.

Seeing its chipped paint and sloping steeple, everything comes into focus; the full scale of what I am doing becomes real. A wild panic seizes me for a moment, so fierce and so deep I almost faint, leaving me wishing for the hollowness to come back, anything to be numb from the wretched reality that faces me. 

The door opens and we’re urged out into the cold. Cosima stands by my side, while Felix descends from the carriage. He doesn’t look back but mutters to the driver and begins to trudge straight to the church, obviously expecting us to follow, gallantry and and decorum be damned. I am not ready. Of its own volition my voice calls out through the darkness, sounding desperate even to my own ears “Felix. I should like a cigarette before we go in.”

Felix turns and quirks his brow in displeasure but to my relief he acquiesces, and I light the cigarette with shaking fingers. The cigarette burns down all too quickly from my deep pulls on the end, desperately seeking some respite from this torrent of emotion that whirls through me. 

It is Felix that jolts me back to reality, but it is not as it should be instead it is an odd distorted version of it, as he stubs out his cigarette. It is as if I am not truly present, my brain is sluggish, slow moving, and overwhelmed. I find myself following like a sheep, allowing him to herd me to the church, and up the aisle to stand before the altar, not thinking, not feeling, and scarcely remembering to breathe. 

From this point, I will say I remember little… I believe in my panic that I surrendered myself to the pull of the inevitable, surrendered my love for the woman that I would never have, and surrendered myself to the woman I was to become. 

The vague memories are disjointed; Felix’s sweating hand in my own, Cosima standing deathly pale, her grip white knuckled on the pewand her face a mask of sorrow and resolution. 

When I see her my daze lifts for a fleeting second and this whole marriage seems like such a cruel irony, for here I am standing in a church with the person I love, only to be married to another. As I say my vows to Felix, repeating the slurred vows back to the priest, I make vows of my own.

I decide that when I become her…Cosima Niehaus, I shall not do it lightly. I vow that I shall never take another lover, not ever. I vow that I shall punish myself for taking her life and that I shall punish myself for living at all. I vow that I shall mourn Cosima until the end, until death do us part. Choking on my heartbreak I numbly follow Felix and the priest in their words, note dumbly as we are pronounced man and wife. It is all a blur until I feel his dry trembling lips press against my own, and then it is done.

 

XXX

 

After the ceremony and the corresponding documents are signed we leave the church and get back into the carriage. We proceed to make the short journey in silence to the dishevelled cottage where we shall lay low for the following days. The land lady Mrs Piquet is as withered and dry as an old apple, and when Felix bows and makes our midnight introductions her gaze falls directly to my waist and I know what it is she thinks of me.

When she shows us to our rooms, for the first time I feel Felix’s nerves. I know he is daunted, for the hardest part of our game now is in play, the part where his role is most important. Felix must juggle Cosima, the doctors and this old crone and I know he doesn’t take it lightly because one misstep would be our end. 

The old lady insists on having a drink with him, looking up with a gap filled smile, positively swooning over the uncomfortable young man, unaware that he is little better than the devil himself. Felix tries to resist but at length he acquiesces, knowing he needs the old woman on side. First he insists however of escorting us upstairs to be rid of our bags, a ploy to sure up my loyalty but Cosima hangs between us and he stands at the door awkwardly, unsure of how to proceed. After a moment he speaks “My Sweet, I shall smoke a cigarette and take a drink with our host my darling. Why don’t you get yourself settled? I shall see you soon.” His words are empty, he disdains my company as much as I do his, but I watch him go in weary relief all the same, happy to be spared more lectures and threats, grateful for Cosima’s presence. 

I vehemently wish that Felix drinks plenty. I know that he has no intentions to touch me, tonight or any other night but I don’t want to have to talk to him. I am too tired to deal with his scheming, his bullying… all I wish to do is sleep and escape this miserable reality for a few hours.

Cosima says nothing to me, but her actions are short, sharp and filled with poorly disguised anger that catches me off guard. For why should _she_ be angry at _me?_ I study her as she storms about, puzzling it out before her brown eyes life to mine and in them I find my answer in a second; Cosima is jealous. I realise she thinks I am going to consummate the marriage with Felix and of course she does. Cosima thinks this marriage is real, we even discussed the wedding night in a way…That night. The night we lay together, the night I surrendered my heart to her, and Cosima yielded her body to me. 

The unexpected jealously is not something I have prepared for, it is not something I could have forseen and it terrifies me. It terrifies me because it gives me fuel for that tiny ember of hope that lies within my heart; hope that Cosima could have feelings for me, that she _could_ love me.

I cannot tear my gaze from the girl and a strange desperation mounts within me as Cosima diligently avoids my gaze. The words fall from my mouth before I am even aware I have thought them but as soon as they burst free, I know they are true.

“I think I have made a mistake, Cosima.”

She doesn’t understand me, she doesn’t understand the weight of my words and what they really mean… she believes I speak of the marital union and my fears of the wedding night “Miss… it won’t be so bad… it will be over in a moment.”

Her eyes don't meet mine, and her tone is shaky and I just fight to contain my frustration at her blindness to the truth.

Cosima is oblivious but then again, how could she not be? She is just as Felix and I intended her to be, manipulated perfectly in position by us both, the only poker player at the table who doesn't know the rules of the game. 

One could hardly blame her… How could Cosima ever know my own husband would never dare, nor care to lay a finger upon me? How could she know that this marriage is for theatres sake and that it is her I want? That it is her I need, to take my place in the world? Cosima knows what we want her to believe, to be able to shut her away, to fulfil the plot and make away with her name and my money. 

My heart squeezes, because loving Cosima is the most painful experience I have even known thus far. I love her not because she is my saviour but I love her because she is who she is. I love Cosima despite her lies, her intrigue and the fact she will betray me. I love her and now I have begun to believe that she loves me, and this is the cruellest of all. It creates a desperate pain within me because it is comically grotesque, but with that pain comes a profound longing, a longing so great I quake with it. 

Quaking with both fear and desire, my body burns for me to take her, to love her, to touch her body as I did before. The words are out between us before I fully comprehend their consequence “Come here.” 

Cosima stands uncertainly by the bed, a tortured look upon her face as her lashes flutter closed but doesn't not come. I try again, firmer this time “Cosima.” and then she moves towards me as if at odds with her own body; a series of short jerky movements that bring her to within my grasp and when she is, I capture her face and tilt it upwards. Her tear filled eyes meet mine but in themI see my own uncertainty, my own passion reflected back at me. We stare at each other a moment, our breathing heavy and suddenly is more than mere lust that consumes me; but anger, so much anger. Anger that she is doing this to me, anger that we are doing this to each other, anger I have been reduced to this at all and I cannot stand it. My emotions launch me forward to claim her lips in a rash lunge, and I kiss her roughly. Cosima yields to me instantly her arms moving to encircle my waist, and I am hit with the realisation that this is is likely the last time Cosima will kiss me and remorse causes tears to burn behind my closed lids. 

Savouring the kiss, savouring her, I drink Cosima in like she is the last drop of water in a desert, because she is. Cosima’s body presses tightly to my own, her heat filters into the coldness in my heart and my sorrow becomes shadowed by a growing need that possesses me, engulfs me, swallows me whole. 

I let my hands slip to the buttons of her dress, not allowing myself to think for even a second, and begin to unbutton them one by one until Cosima pulls away from my embrace.

The separation of our lips is agonising and Cosima’s closed eyes, her shaking head does nothing to soothe the tempest within me. Desperation grows stronger as Cosima sighs and tears her gaze to the door; on the splintered piece of wood it lingers and Cosima lets out a short shuddering breathe before pulling her regard back to mine. Our gazes lock for a moment before Cosima leans forward and tucks her head into the crook of my neck before wrapping her arms around my waist and pulling me tight. Her nose presses against my pulse point and I shudder when her gentle lips caress me there, igniting my passions and my pain. The thought that this is the last is too much; and when I speak and my voice comes out a low husky plea “Please Cosima. Let me…be with you.”

She lifts her gaze to mine, she looks at me, _into_ me and I read the swirl of emotion that lies in hers; fear, hurt, lust, confusion. Cosima’s gaze flickers from me to the door and back again… I watch her struggle, obvious in her desire but solid in her resolve and my heart plummets when her she shuts her eyes and murmurs “Delphine. We can’t.”

I know that I should have accepted Cosima’s words and left it there… things would have been easier than what was to follow. It was no great surprise to be rebuffed… after all my husband was downstairs, this was supposed to be my wedding night. Even putting all that aside, the woman I held in my arms just happened tobe my adversary in aim this. I know Cosima was telling herself to walk away, but in a moment of sheer folly, I decided not to let her.

I am unable to define exactly what seized me, but I believe I was simply overwhelmed; completely overcome with resentment, remorse, desire so much so my faculties left me for a moment. What follows is something that shall forever shame me; I let Cosima’s words fall heavy between us, but I ignore them and instead pay close attention to the woman herself; taking in the flush to her cheeks, the rapid rise and fall of her chest, her shallow breaths and blown pupils. I absorb the pure longing in her regard and make myself ignore the rest. Hunger and possession are the only things I feel in that instant, a hunger for her body, for her love and an obscene need to claim her, to mark her as mine, even though she is not. I am voracious, ravenous and I pull her back to me roughly, seizing her lips with my own viciously, devouring her as I try to escape this misery of my own making and empty words tumble from lips pressed flush againsthers “What have I done?”

What _have_ I done??? 

Refusing to think; so desperate to quiet the inner turmoil, I rage against my brains natural tendency to rationalise, to reason. With Cosima I seek solace, but the deeper I kiss her, the heavier the weight of her betrayal presses down upon my shoulders, and under its weight my mind buckles. It is then that my desperation becomes more sinister, and perhaps more feral. 

I seize Cosima without restraint, lost under the weight of remorse and despair, pushing away the terror I feel with ferocity. Cosima kisses me back at first, my tongue plunders her mouth and as her desperate moans spur me on, I become regrettably rougher. I need her… I want her and so I decide I will have her. 

Cosima becomes more responsive and even as I feel her move in an attempt to gain some distance, she cannot seem to bring herself to detach from my lips. I become hungrier, moving her back towards the rickety bed and push her back so she falls backwards, onto the bed sprawled out before me. I do not pause for a breath before climbing upon her, swiftly moving to kiss her, not allowing the damning words to spill forth from her lips. 

Still Cosima kisses me, but my hands possess a mind of their own as they lift the heavy bunched material that keeps her from me and I do not stop; not until she finally extricates herself from my embrace, hissing “Delphine… We can’t. He…he will be back up any minute.”

The word _he_ thrums through my mind and I am irrationally irritated, irritated by the thought of my _husband_ , by the man that stands between Cosima and I, the man who uses us both for his own ends, a feckless thief with all the power.- In a moment of recklessness I think to myself “let him find us like this. Let this be the end to this wretched thing” and so I ignore her words and focus on the thrum of her body, on the way her hips that still press against mine despite her protests. 

It is no excuse for what follows… I should not have done what I do next but I am lost in another world; a world of huger, desperation and pain. I grasp her skirt firmly and yank it up before clasping the ruffled fabric of her drawers and pull them down brusquely,shimmying down as I do so, fully intending to claim what I want most in that moment, without a thought to her protests. 

It is only when Cosima sits up, and hands grasp my shoulders that I take a second to stop my actions and look at her; and the expression on her face is enough to cow the beast that seizes me. Cosima’s expression is enough to douse me in reason, reality… it is enough to utterly shame me. Shame me because her eyes are wide, and though her pupils remain dark her face is a mask of pure panic and fear… fear of me and I gaze at her, appalled with myself. 

Idiotically I stutter a moment, desperately trying to think of a way to explain myself, but no words spring to mind for there is no excuse, none at all. 

My mind halts with horror and in my shame I blurt out the first thing to come to mind; the truth without guile, without intrigue, a feeble attempt to explain my actions. Stammering as I speak it floods from me “Mon Dieu...Cosima, I’m so sorry. I don’t know what I…I’m sorry. But… I _need_ this, Cosima. I need this to help me get through… what is to come. I need something good to come of this night. Please. I know you want it too, so just please, one last time. Let me be with you.”

Of course, Cosima doesn’t understand the true implication of this truth, she thinks I speak of _him_ on the night of our wedding and I despite everything I feel I am unable to correct her. Cosima couldn't know that I speak about _us;_ that I need something to help me get through what is to become of _us_ … of what will become of her.

Cosima’s panicked expression slides away the moment I stop my lustful pressing, and now she weighs the weight of my words, studying me intensely. I watch, rapt as her expression changes, as that doubt slips away and determination takes its place. When it does,it is Cosima that pulls me to her to claim my lips; it is she who delves deeper, her hands grasping at me, her tongue seeking my own insistently. Cosima then lays back on the bed, pulling me with her as she sucks upon my bottom lip and I follow her willingly, my passion reignited, my reason and fear quelled by my longing.

As Cosima kisses me I realise that _this_ is how I want our last time to be; not the blind desperate fumble that it was, but for Cosima to WANT me, as I want her.Cosima’s hips grind into mine as we kiss but I refuse to lose control of myself, not again. I will not push Cosima further than she is willing to go and shall wait until I have her unquestionable and clear consent before going further. We kiss for what feels like an eternity and cautious I finally pull back and place a gentle kiss upon her neat nose, then to her lips where I whisper into the soft skin “May I?” 

I wait for her response as I continue to trail gentle kisses across her neck but I press no further. Cosima pauses for a moment, shuddering with desire, pulling me back to her but I wait until I hear the words come out of her own mouth “Yes. But we must be quick, he could be back any second.” 

Cosima’s agreement spurs me into immediate action; I lift myself and lock the shoddy door, then stride quickly back to the bed and drop onto my knees at the edge of the bed, leaning forward and capturing Cosima’s ankles to urge her closer. Satisfied she is comfortable I inch her thighs apart and tingle with anticipation, but I don't begin… not yet. Dropping my gaze to look at her brieflycannot help but sigh with satisfaction and anticipation as I see her spread and glistening before me. Tearing my gaze away to glance up at her, I see _her_ need then and I decide to give her what she wants and lean forward and move my tongue through her. I cannot contain a smile as I feel her body jolt at the sensation but I hold her firmly, nudging her thighs further apart. I look up to watch as Cosima’s eyes flutter closed, and she raises an arm to cover her mouth as her chest heaves with pleasure. 

I don’t have much time but this will not be the rushed frenzy that it was at the beginning. I intend to take Cosima to heaven and back; to do this for her and not only for myself. If it is the last time I shall have her before me then I want her to remember it, no matter what. Losing myself in her moans, in the roll of her hips, I swirl my tongue languidly over her glistening flesh, gently to begin with, allowing her to acclimatise, giving her body time to respond to my touch. She is sweet, tinged with a hint of salt, she is smooth as butter against my mouth. 

My hands slide up, one anchors to her now rolling hips and the other slides over the rough fabric of her dress until it reaches a soft mound of her breast. I can feel Cosima growing hotter against my tongue, she grows wetter and I want more. I slide my hands down and grasp her soft buttocks, lifting her slightly in a bid to give me greater access to her core, burying my face deep, thrusting my tongue within her. Cosima moans louder and my own body respond and it as if the tongue that caresses her, caresses me because each twitch of her compact body jolts straight to my core. Losing myself in her, I allow her flesh, her taste, her smell to overcome my senses as I pull a hand from around her hip and then slowly press a finger into her warm depths.

Cosima’s flesh yields to me easily, her warmth encloses me and I can feel her tense from within as my finger inches deeper. Cosima moans loudly but I cannot find it in myself to care as I withdraw it slowly and then press forward with slightly more force. I do it again and Cosima begins to roil beneath me, her hips meeting my movements thrust for thrust. We move faster, and I curl my digit as I lightly suck on the bundle of nerves that bring her most pleasure, Cosima struggles to remain quiet but she cannot help the ragged breaths and low moans that escape from her lips, leaving me wanting more of them. 

Though I am not sure if Cosima truly _loves me_ as I do her, I know that she wants this, for her hands anchor to my curls, and her other hand drops to stroke my cheek; the tender motion quite catching me off guard. 

I open my eyes and meet her gaze over the mound of her pubis; her eyes are dark, her irises swallowed by the blown pupils, her regard intense and wanting, simply begging for release…and so I give it to her. When her body breaks I feel Cosima convulse around me, I hear the drawn out moan, muffled by the back of Cosima’s hand that she bites into ruthlessly. 

I do not still within her, but keep moving my finger until her spasms subside and when they do I pull back, savouring the taste of her on my tongue. Cold air hits my face as I separate from her genre and it is that that brings me back to the unhappy reality. 

Raising my head to look at Cosima, I observe the dress that is rucked up around her waist; her flushed skin, the hair that is so obviously askew. Cosima struggles to catch her breath sprawled across the sagging bed in the dingy room and I am overcome with shame. 

Shame because Cosima deserves better.I feel as if I have treated her like a whore, claiming her, seizing her, having her, but not only that…I been reckless with both out lives to the point of folly. Cosima is sprawled out on my marriage bed, I wear her on my skin, and I ask myself what was I thinking? Felix is downstairs… my _husband_ is downstairs and here I am in our marriage bed, false or not, having ravaged the woman he has procured to con me, and who I in turn intended to betray. _Intended_ being the operative word, for how can I do it now? Now that I am almost sure that she cares for me more than I had thought, I know I shall never be able to accomplish it.Overcome with disgrace and panic I pull away, embarrassed and look about me. The room looks as if a tornado has hit it; in my frenzy I knocked things from the bed, discarded clothes to the floor… the bed itself mussed and both of us look tousled and wild. 

Suddenly swallowed up by disgrace, I dare glance to Cosima, watching her shakily stand and straighten the bedding. Sweeping up her underwear I pass them her wordlessly and we set about righting the shabby room, because it grows late, and Felix could be back any second. We do not speak, we do not address what has just happened between us but hurry frantically, shoving clothes into drawers and our bags beneath the bed. It seems a mere minute later that I hear the heavy thuds of a man’s tread sloping up the stairs and panic seizes me; I look at my wild hair in the mirror, then to Cosima’s red face and creased clothes and it is so obvious… so transparent what we have just done. 

She catches my eye and I hiss at her to open the latched door while stride to the washbowl and bathe my hands and face quickly; it is the bare minimum but I have hardly time for more. Felix knocks and I look to Cosima who now looks at me with such wide, wounded eyes that my heart stutters, for in them…I see hurt, yes… but there is also love.

My words cut through the silence “Just a moment”, and I hear Felix huff behind the door. I stride quickly to Cosima and draw her to me once more, gazing into the pools of emotion that so clearly reflect my own and though we have no time; to speak, to settle whatever this is, no time to decide whatever this frantic coupling represented, I pull her lips to my own and kiss her tenderly. 

Cosima’s lips mould to mine and she holds me hard, as if she is afraid to let go and it is with a heavy heart that I pull away, murmuring a quiet thank you against her lips. Drawing back unwillingly I compose myself, trying to ignore my jitters as I give Cosima a steady nod and saying as clearly and confidently as I can “Come in.

Calling Felix to enter I try to arrange my face into a neutral expression but admittedly am far less composed than I appear to be. In truth I am panicked, emotional and terrified that he shall find out what we have done, here in this very room, mere minutes ago. When Felix wheels in stinking like a brewery I almost become faint with relief because he must be drunk, and this is a godsend. Felix, a man who is so unusually observant is in no fit state to notice the tension that crackles between Cosima and I, he won’t be aware enough to catch the faint smell of arousal that clings to me and to her. Almost leaping with relief and gratitude I reason that he shall not notice her creased dress or flushed brow and I thank a god I don’t believe in as I decide to get him into bed as quickly as possible. 

However, my relief is short lived for Cosima just _stands_ there. Stands there glaring when she should be as terrified as I, when she should be taking her leave at the first chance she gets. Rage and jealously radiate from her so transparently and I want to scream at her to leave, to get out while she can before he sees through us both. 

Felix quirks a brow in her direction and I have to bite my lip to keep from speaking, until finally I manage to catch her gaze. I implore her to leave with my eyes, wide and pleading, begging her to not make a scene because this man is dangerous and must be handled accordingly. Cosima’s eyes flicker back to him before she reluctantly lowers them and almost spits “Will that be all Miss?” Almost sagging in relief I withhold the urge to reach out to her as she passes, exiting so slowly and reluctantly with utter defeat etched into every slope of her frame, casting a filthy look to Felix before shutting the door.

The urge to keep us safe is bustled aside for a brief moment by a slight elation; a sense of triumph because Cosima’s actions have made one thing clear… she does care for me. Though I cannot be sure to the depth of her feeling, Cosima does have feelings for me and they are no longer a possibility, but a certainty.

I ask myself; What if she actually doesn’t _want_ to do this? What if she is as entrapped by her obligation as I am? What if Felix has been threatening her, as he has me? What if he has been playing us _both_ for fools? I make up my mind in that instant not to go through with the plot, to call it off and perhaps slip from here in the night, with her… if she will take me. I am lost in my thoughts a moment, completely forgetting the tall figure that stands behind me. 

He huffs a heavy sigh and I startle back into reality, I turn around to look at him, noting that Felix stands straighter, he shrugs of his stinking coat and throws it on the chair muttering with perfect diction, “ Pass me another shirt would you? I spilled an entire glass of whiskey on purpose, the old bat wouldn’t let me leave until I had drank half the fucking bottle. Foul whiskey it was too… though I figured it will do Cosima no harm either to think me in such a state, it is our wedding night after all dear wife.” Before tossing me a wink. 

Dread creeps over me when I realise that he isn’t drunk at all… the man is as sober as a judge and in charge of his full capacities. My heart kicks into overdrive as he steps towards me and I am more self-conscious than ever of the aftermath of our transgression; my swollen lips, the red flaming scratch marks that trail up one of my forearms, my wild hair, the faint smell of sex that lingers. I close my eyes a second to gather myself, to will the shaking that has started to stop when he begins to speak “Now, Delphine. We have things to discuss. ” 

He comes closer and take a step back but doing this causes him to regard me oddly, to step closer to me again while I take another step back before stopping with a bump, realising I can go no further, for my back is against the wall. Puzzled he lets his eyes trail over me as I refuse to meet his gaze and when he speaks he is uncertain and I curse myself for having moved from him at all “Delphine… what is the matter?”

I refuse to respond and begin shaking harder. Felix’s gaze becomes concerned and even _compassionate_ for a moment as he catches my chin and tilts it up gently to meet his gaze.

“Delphine, don’t tell me you’re afraid of me. I have promised you I wouldn’t lay a finger upon you.” His words are soft, and I almost exhale a sigh of relief until his gaze focuses, and disbelief and horror crosses his expression, and then I know it is over. When Felix manages to speak again his voice is lower, so quiet I have to strain to hear it even in his close proximity. “Tell me you didn’t?!”

Jerking my face from his grasp I say nothing. I don’t need to.  


Felix still has me cornered but I make no move to escape as he hisses, his temper evident but his need for privacy tempering his volume “Are you _mad_?!!!”

To my surprise when I find my voice to respond it is not nearly as apologetic as he would like it to be. Honestly, I sound more confident than I feel but I refuse to let him see how frightened he makes me and must force the tremor from my voice.

I meet his gaze, feel a quirk of a smirk on the corner of my lips, and toss out a nonchalant “Probably.” delivered with a slight shrug of the shoulders. Felix’s jaw literally drops as I gapes like a fish, struggling for words as his face becomes redder. 

A beat passes before he reaches out and grasps my arms, his facealmost purple as he practically spits in fury “How could you? How could _she…_ that little margaute?!” His words trail off and eyes flit to the door as his expression hardens and fear for Cosimablooms in my chest; I need to distract him, so I speak. 

Terrified as I am,… now is the time to do it, to get it over with. Taking a deep breath I let the words flood from me in a rush “Felix. I cannot do this.”

His head jerks back to me and his grip tightens as disbelief clouds his features and then colour that had flooded his face begins to drain. His eyes grow wide and for a moment he looks terrified, he looks lost, he looks betrayed. I open my mouth to speak but he cuts me off, his tone barely restrained as a terrifying expression sets in, he bares down upon me as he whispers “Cannot do this? This is _done_ Delphine! Have you told her??!!- He shakes me hard and I bite my lip to keep from crying out –“Have you?!?”

Gritting my teeth against his crushing grip begin to writhe, looking to ease the pressure as I mutter “No I haven’t told her Felix! But I can’t do this to her, I can’t put her in the asylum! I won’t. I _love_ her!”

The admission lies between us, as heavy as lead and at last Felix loosens his crushing pressure on my arm. I sag back against the wall as I massage it, trying to urge the blood flow back into the appendage, ignoring the sting of a bruise surely settling in. I stay silent, but my fear grows as I watch Felix, who though has released me has begun to breathe heavily, his eyes glazed and wild. He quivers, shakes and positively seethes and I do not dare to speak, nor move. My heart almost stops when two his two dark eyes blaze into my own, his gaze implacable and dangerous. When he speaks however his voice devoid of emotion, it is cool calm and frighteningly collected. 

“Love her do you? You can’t go through with it? Very well Delphine, if that is what you want I cannot stop you but do not ignore the fact that by sparing her you are condemning yourself. I am your legal husband. I am entitled to _all_ your assets should I want them and the only thing I must do is get rid of _you_ , little wife.” His lip curls in a snarl as he continues “You are mine now Delphine and if you don’t want to betray Cosima you will remain so; _my wife_. A wife I do not want… a wife I do not need and so remember this….Delphine Cormier doesn’t exist anymore. You are no one, nothing but a woman, married to me; a man. If you want to remain so, that is your choice, but _a_ Delphine Delvinquiere _will_ be going to the madhouse next week and if you’d rather be you, so be it.”  


Unable to respond I let his words pummel me as if they were true blows. Felix continues on relentlessly; his words bitter, flowing from his tongue like venom, his tone cool but scathing, a bitter look on his twisted face “Perhaps it is better that it would be you, you useless girl. I shan’t be sorry to see the back of you; you are more trouble than you’re worth, and an ungrateful little bitch at that. Finding cause to put you in the madhouse will be easy. Ha! If I ever needed one to put you away well there it is!-My wife won’t stop fiddling with the maids! No gentleman would ever make it up! They would take me on my word alone… and do you think I would leave it at that?Of course not, I am a man of my word- I warned you would pay for crossing me and so when I put you away for good, just to spite you, just to hurt you I shall deal with _her_ too.” 

At the mention of Cosima, my heart that had been hammering, stops. I feel my chest lurch, then squeeze, I gasp for breath as he hammers his point home. Staring at him with wide eyes, I feel a fear deeper that _anything_ I have ever known. Felix sneers, his voice low, probing and cold “Ah Cosima…this is her fault as much as yours…and so why shouldn’t I exact my revenge… lets say… I kill her?”

My blood runs cold. Ice cold, I never would have thought Felix a killer but here he is, his face hovering inches from my own, bearing down upon me menacingly, hissing like a demon possessed… _seething_ and I see for the first time how truly dangerous he is. I quake as pathetic plea spills from me, laced with fear and tinged with disbelief. “You wouldn’t.”

Felix takes a slight pace back allowing some air passes between us and it feels more chilling than a winter’s breeze. When he speaks his tone changes from that bitter harshness of before to a soft thoughtfulness that somehow frightens me more. 

He muses, as if to himself “It would be so easy…after all, it is no great trouble to get away with a murder, if you know what you’re doing, if you know the right people… which I do. No one would miss her, or look for her. Cosima is alone in the world, a no-one of the world. I’m not a violent man, Delphine, not unless driven to it but it would be no great trial to me to do it. I dare say it would be worth it; killing her for betraying me and most of all to hurt you. Because let me tell you now, I take _this_ personally….having gone out of my way to help you, to give you freedom and get my gains while doing so; to give you the anonymity you wanted so much. I could have considered you a friend and yet you turn around and slap me in the face. Or perhaps you consider me unworthy of your friendship? Well, perhaps I make a poor friend Delphine but I make worse enemy. You have been unwise to cross me.” 

With that he turns away from me, his final threat receiving its desired result, I am pale, speechless and cower against the wall where I was cornered. Felix throws me one more scathing look before he sits heavily on the bed and begins working at his boots. He lets his words sink in, and they do, as heavy and fast as lead weights. 

The truth of his words petrify me for Delphine Delvinquiere _is_ his, and he can indeed do with me what he wishes. The idea of being sectioned to the madhouse to suffer the same fate as my mother frightens me deeply but it is really the threat to Cosima’s life that causes the terror to rise to my throat, constricting my air way; strangling me. 

Felix would do it. Of that I am now sure; that bitternes, the pure rage and _spite_ I saw in his gaze is enough to assure me of this, and I realise I have underestimated him. I struggle to wrack my brain for a solution but come up empty; I am trapped and so is Cosima and I must do what ever I have to to keep her safe. I need to buy myself some time, to stop this wheel from turning and so I say to myself, even in my fear addled state that this is not the end. I shall give Felix my false parole and will find a way, somehow, to get us out of this.  
  
Taking a deep and shaky breath I speak to the hunched dark figure that still works at his shoes. “Felix... I give you my word to see this through to the end… just please…don’t hurt her.”

Felix doesn’t move, he doesn’t speak for some time until he eventually turns to me and regards me coldly “Very well, Delphine, I shall give you one more chance. However half of your fortune has now diminished to a quarter for you, and you should consider yourself lucky to get even that. Let me warn you, if I catch even a hint of an idea that you are consorting with the little wench again, I won’t hesitate to renege on our deal, put you away and finish her. Do you understand me?”

Taking a deep breath I murmur a low “Yes, Felix.” and ask myself how the hell am I going to fix this?

 

XXX

Felix soon prepares to bed and slips under the covers with a resentful scowl, turning his back to me facing towards the wall. I do not sleep, I won’t… not beside him. I curl myself into the sagging armchair beside the bed, unable to find comfort or sleep while my brain, desperately tries to find a solution to this nightmare. Hours pass, Felix snores and I struggle but even by the time the sun begins to rise I am no closer to a possible plan of escape.

Felix dresses and leaves for breakfast without even a glance in my direction. At last I slip into the bed, body aching from the chair and sit until Cosima comes into the room. I am exhausted and terrified; I dare not even look at her, nor speak to her, not after Felix’s warning the night before; he was painfully clear, if he has even the slightest inkling of anything between us he shall make us both pay for it

Cosima is obviously confused and hurt that I make no move to acknowledge her, but she has notion how precariously her life lies in the balance. I do not put it past Felix to spy on me, to hide and listen, waiting for me to slip up. So, I let her fume silently while my mind grasps at straws and ties itself into knots, desperately trying to save us.

This carries on for _days_ and time runs don like the fine sand within an hourglass, relentless and fast. Felix watches us; he barges into the room unannounced, he observes our every movement and avoids leaving us alone together but there is no need; I am not foolish enough to say so much as a kind word to the girl. I won’t let Cosima near me, dress me or touch me and I can see it hurts her but if I must hurt her to keep her safe, I shall not hesitate to do so. Cosima takes it badly- as a rebuffal perhaps but if only she _knew_ that this coldness, that this distance I have placed between us is one that I have imposed to keep her safe!

Keeping her from me is easier said than done, it hurts me almost physically but I think on Felix’s words, of Cosima's youth and beauty and I swear to myself that I shall not let her die.

The tension and pressure mounts as each day passes and I am reminded with harsh words from Felix that I have a role to play; I am supposed to be moulding her, sculpting her to pass for a lady in wake of myself. For my part I must keep up appearances and dress down; remain shoddy and unkempt though I am not much concerned, for any energy I have goes to looking for an escape.

I have pondered time and time again my options during sleepless nights, hazy days of frenzied thinking; half made plans, and poorly concealed panic. Felix thinks me heartbroken and afraid and that I am… but he doesn’t guess I am plotting, _desperately_ for a way to get free of him. My options are few; I reason that I could go ahead with the plan and betray the woman I love but this is I disregarded immediately. I could kill him but as a murderess end up with the guillotine which is less than ideal. I could kill myself on my own terms, leaving Felix a rich man but at least with no reason to harm Cosima… but even so there is no guarantee that he wouldn’t, just to spite me. My most promising idea yet is to strike a deal and let him take it all… all the money, leaving me penniless and homeless, in exchange for my freedom and for Cosima’s.

Even if I gave it all up; so much of it depends on Cosima herself. Even if she loves me, which I believe she does…would she choose me? Would she leave with me, though penniless? Would Cosima throw her lot in with mine? I do not know.

There is another idea that lingers in the darkest depths of my mind, half formed and dangerous. It is risky… incredibly risky but I cannot help but wonder if somehow she and I could find a way to throw _him_ over, to con _him_. Perhaps both of us can could somehow come out of this out of this unscathed and rich to boot… together with all the resources at our disposal… we would be unstoppable. 

But the question is how?

XXX

 

The next few days pass in a fug of smoke and sleepless nights, I have begun to formulate the weak outline of a precarious plan…now the only question is if Cosima, my Cosima would be willing to go along with it. It is a shaky thing, prone to dire failure; I shall have to tell her the truth about myself, the plot and my role in it and there is every chance she may not forgive ME for it…despite the fact that each one of us is as guilty as the other.

My plan is this; speak to Cosima and get her to agree. Agree to be mine, agree to take my place and WILLINGLY go to the asylum. Not indefinitely of course but long enough for me to put my plans in place.

With Cosima’s incarceration, I shall retain her papers and my own as Madame Delvinquiere. I shall then accompany Felix to Paris, follow his lead as per his original plan and keep his company until the meeting with the lawyer where I will secure my funds. Then Felix will have to accompany me back to our accommodations to split the money and for me to “collect my things”. Here I shall somehow incapacitate him, tie him up and confine him before taking the rest of the money, and making my flight to the asylum. Once there I shall somehow either buy Cosima’s freedom or break her out and once free we shall flee quickly to the coast where we shall take the next ferry to England. From the port I shall send a letter to the commissariat of the police, disclosing Felix’s location, where they shall find and free the thief, giving us a good head start. Once we are away from France we shall be safe, together and though it might sounds like a fools dream; I have no better plan. This is it… the question is will Cosima be willing?

The doubt is crippling; suppose I am wrong and she doesn’t care for me at all? What if she should tell Felix and it is I that ends up in the madhouse? Suppose she agrees but refuses to take my place at the asylum? Suppose she never forgives me for what I planned to do to her?

Terrifying as all my doubts are; it is worth the risk.

XXX

 

 

Time is running out and worry eats away at me when Felix informs me that the doctors will be coming in three days. I have been playing the part, keeping my distance, following Felix’s instructions to keep Cosima pristine, to dull myself in comparison; gifting her another dress while I keep to the now dank dress that I wear.

Cosima tries to bathe me, change me but each time I refuse her and soon she gives up and stands by my side, her face stony and hard. For once we are alone, Felix being occupied downstairs with Mrs. Piquet and the I realise that this is what I have been waiting for; the only chance we have. I am afraid, afraid to make my confessions so I try and give her a chance, to play on her feelings, to tempt her to come clean “I must say you have become quite the lady since we have met, which is fitting, because once the marriage is legal and I have access to my money you will no longer be my maid… You shall be my companion, and quite the lady yourself. I shall get you your own maid, and you shall have a fine house beside ours…”

Cosima’s eyes flicker to me and soften imperceptibly before hardening again. I see her jaw set and am dismayed when she says nothing, when she doesn’t cave as I had hoped she would and it is with trepidation I realise I must confess all myself. I start badly, very badly, letting the nerves take over; the terror of rejection makes me unclear and clumsy. What I mean to say is; Cosima… you are beautiful, always so beautiful. What I mean to say is- “Look at me Cosima, truly, I am not what I appear to be…” what I wish to say is- ”I know. I know what you mean to do and I am so sorry but I mean to do the same thing to you”. What I want to say - “I am sorry, and I love you”. What screams from within me is “runaway with me”. 

But that is not what comes out; as the words are about to stumble forth from me, they catch in my chest and they struggle. I balk, changing the subject, biding time trying to gather my courage, babbling nonsense, paying no heed to my words“How stunning you look with your hair dressed so… I dare say I have never let my hair become so unruly but all is the better. I wish to be plainer… No one would ever thing me to be the wife of a grand man like Monsieur Delvinquiere, would they?”

I mean to continue, mean to carry on and plough through to tell her I am pretending to be someone I am not, to explain my recent actions of this past week,and finally beg her to leave with me but I stop at the look on Cosima’s face. I have no idea what I have said that seems to have angered her so because Cosima begins to shake; to vibrate with rage, and my heart quails. I revise my words, looking for the slip and come up empty and my heart falters when Cosima turns on her heel in one swift motion and storms from the room.

A terrifying thought hits me; she knows. Cosima knows, and she will never forgive me. I need to go after her, I need to explain, I need her to listen to me, to know how sorry I am and I start forward to follow her down the stairs, quickly and quietly, determined to catch up to her, but terrified of alerting Felix.

I rush through the house in silence, following the sound of the heavy footsteps that tramp through the scullery and I hear the door swing open. I am about to follow when a brief shriek stops me in my tracks. The cry is cut short and for a moment my heart fails me for I think she has killed him but then I hear her voice, a low growl and something compels me to stop; to listen and pause at the door that hangs ajar. Though her voice is faint faint is still distinct as it filters through from the garden.“It’s Cosima, you prick. Now you listen to me and listen well. You’ve done it. The marriage is legal. Your plan is going ahead and you no longer need to _force_ yourself on her, do you hear me?” My heart soars and for a moment I believe… I let myself believe that it is _us_ against him even though she doesn’t understand everything, not yet. A smile spreads across my cheeks, and tears of joy and relief spring instantly to my eyes. Taking a step I press my hand to the door, ready to swing it open, ready to go to her and take her into my arms. 

Of course as you know, that is not the turn of events that followed and the elation I felt is short lived as just as I am about to stride to the garden, Cosima continues to speak “One finger, lay one finger on her again Felix, and I’ll kill you. Do you understand me? I’ve had enough of this.”

Enough of this? Fear quickly takes elations place and my rapidly expanding heart flutters; it remains perched in suspense.When she continues on I am robbed of breath, the inflated lungs in my chest deflate at a rapid pace, folding in on themselves while my heart stalls as she says “Send for the doctor tomorrow, I want this over with. I want to be home in La Jonquiere by next week _with_ my money. But I mean it, touch her again and you’re dead.” And with that my stopped heart stutters and implodes before shattering into a million shares, so fine and many that it shall forever remain irreparable. 

It has all been a lie. Cosima has had enough of this… enough of me.The hope that had blossomed so quickly within me is snuffed out, replaced by nausea and followed by the desire to sob and I raise my hand to cover my mouth to stop the small wail that bursts forth from the knot in my chest. When Felix responds, she doesn’t let him speak but instead she says coldly, determinedly “Tomorrow.” In that final word, laced with menace know she doesn’t love me, and that she never did.

XXX

 

My pain is so great for a moment feel it shall suffocate me; I cannot breathe, speak or think but I know that I am too exposed hanging beside the back door and Cosima burst in at any moment. Seeing the pantry door beside me, I force myself into it, pulling the door shut fast behind me, throwing my back against it and allow my body to slide down to the floor. At last the sob I have been holding in is free to make its escape and the tears fall hard and fast from my eyes.

All dreams I had of us together, all hopes of a future with her; all the worries, plans and plotting feel foolish and immature and I curse myself for having been such a naïve _child. I b_ erate myself for having any faith in her because Cosima is a margaute, a con artist who played me flawlessly and I let her. 

I believe I told you before, when describing the beatings I received at the hands of my uncle; the body can only withstand a certain amount of pain before it shuts down but I never thought that emotional pain could induce the same response. Previous to this,I always thought heartbreak was an expression…I did not believe it was a literal action; visceral, agonising, something tangibly physiological. Until I feel it; the shattering of my heart and it is such a PHYSICAL sensation, so painful I cant believe the muscle keeps beating. My heart splinters and shatters again and again until the agony is too much and I no longer feel anything. It envelops me as I sit on the dirty pantry floor and as time passes though the knot in my chest doesn’t ease, I find that once again I can draw a breath. The hole that lies in my chest is slowly filled with a dark and implacable rage that wraps me tight within its grip, shielding me from my heartache, and filling the void with hatred. I feel it; the darkness that has always lurked within me rise. 

I cloak myself in my betrayal, taking comfort in the fact that even though love has broken me, I know that my rage will rebuild me and I will see that Cosima gets what she deserves. I will follow this through until the very end.I will become Cosima Niehaus, she WILL take my place in the madhouse and I will never look back.

XXX

Even with the clarity that comes with my heartbreak hating Cosima doesn’t come easy, but the pain I feel every time I glance at her makes it possible to convince myself that it will.

It is made a little easier when Cosima remains far removed from me; cold and distant and I am thankful for it because I doubt that I could keep myself from lashing out at her, from slipping my fingers into her dark mass of mahogany curls and ripping them free. I doubt I could restrain the sharp slaps that itch to break free, the vicious words that beg to spill from my lips; the accusations, the fury, or honesty that bubbles against my lips.

Felix comes to me later that afternoon, shaky anxious as he informs me that it is to happen tomorrow and he has sent for the doctor who will arrive in the morning. When he tells me, I can tell from his countenance that he expects resistance from me, that he shall have to bully me some more, though he looks so _weary_ I question whether he would even have the strength to do so.

He is surprised when instead of a scathing comment, I nod once, and reply cooly “Very well, Felix.”

He looks shocked for a second, then suspicious and then so throughly grateful that I cannot help but wonder if this whole thing has indeed been harder for him than he would like me to believe. . Felix leaves me to my own devices then, avoiding me as best he can and I know why. I heard every one of Cosima’s words and despite the pang of hurt I feel, I cannot disregard the slight amusement drawn from the fact such an ominous and threatening figure could be intimidated by such a small person. 

But then again… appearances can be so deceiving and it strikes me then that I don’t know Cosima at all… I know nothing real about the girl. The only thing I can be certain of is that I have underestimated her and she is far more adept at this game than I believed her to be. 

Hardened and bolstered by the thought I take a deep breath and centre my thoughts I must prepare for tomorrow; I have been briefed and must play my role with fervour. What is to follow is so delicate, so fragile… I fear what could happen, should we fail.

XXX

 

I do not sleep but rise with the sun and wait impatiently for the day to begin. That morning he doctor comes andwhen I meet the man, as to Felix’s instructions I do not introduce myself, and Felix as sly as ever speaks to his “wife” but his eyes are trained vaguely between the space between Cosima and I. So clever he is, for he could be addressing either one of us though Cosima must surely assume he is looking at me. 

The time comes that I must take my leave, subtly, while Cosima is distracted.I am supposed to dip into a quick curtsey but I find when I look at the man, the doctor who will be the sealer of Cosima’s fate, that I am unable to speak, unable to move and feel an unwelcome flurry of emotion rise to sting my eyes. Unable to contain it, I balk and turn away and mount the stairs without a word, shutting the door fast behind me. Pressing my back to the rickety piece of timber I try to steady my breathing, to find my rage and resolution but am met with nothing other than misery. Tears burn but remain unspilled until at length I hear two sets of footsteps on the stairs, one light and one heavy and I know that they are coming to see me. 

 I step away from the door to the window and wait. They open the door and come through; Felix looks at me, his eyes flinty and sharp and bids me to descend but I ignore him. I continue to stare out the window and do not respond when he heaves a sigh and mutters to Cosima, his voice hard and his gaze burning my back as he says “Cosima, come with me for a minute would you, we will give Delphine a minute to _compose_ herself.”

They shut the door behind them, but I hear them pause outside of it. They murmur to each from behind the this timber, and I know Felix _wants_ me to hear what they say “You know what to say don’t you?” And I hear Cosima’s low response, completely devoid of emotion when she mutters back “Of course.” 

Two simple words is enough to incite the rage once again and to smother any pain or feeling I might have. I stand by the window; numb to it all. They take their time with the doctor but finally, a little over an hour later I see Cosima stride from the house into the field beyond, she doesn’t look back, bet marches solidly into the distance. I am left a few minutes alone but I know what is coming next and hearing Felix once again mount the stairs, I decide to get this over with and cross to the door, hauling it open just as he raises his hand to knock. He looks surprised a moment but gestures for me to make my way from the room, following me down the stairs wordlessly. He no longer has to question my commitment because I am sure the fury in my eyes is enough to reassure him. Wordlessly I follow him into the scullery and come face to face with the man that I must convince of this deception.

Before I walk in, I take a second to put myself in character; hunching my shoulders slightly I shirk of the ridged posture that has been beaten into me and dip my head low. I think of Gaelle; her deferential poise, her uncertain stance and I channel her nervous energy. With one breath I walk into the room and come face to face with the doctor. Not raising my gaze to I train my eyes on the doctor’s shoe and dip into a smooth curtsey, waiting for my “betters” to address me. m. 

The doctor is a mild looking man, he has a head of silver hair and a pale face at odds with the startling darkness oh his eyes, so brown they appear as black as ink. 

“Doctor Legrain, this is my wife’s maid Cosima, Cosima Niehaus.”

The doctor looks me over slowly and I keep my gaze slightly lowered. The doctor seems to be waiting for me to speak but I know a servant, a true servant, something Cosima has no idea about would never address a gentleman first. Felix cuts in, perhaps trying to jolt me into action “Cosima here has been a good friend to my wife, and a faithful maid, though I dare say things have not been easy for her as of late, isn’t that so Cosima?”

At this I finally look up and nod mutely. I am numb. 

Felix looks at me and says to me kindly “Monsieur Legrain here will just ask you some questions, and I just ask you to answer them honestly… it is for the good of your mistress so you must not hold back, Cosima. To help her, he must know it all.” Felix words of course, carry the most obvious and ulterior meaning, “Do not falter now, and tell it all, as we had planned.” Nodding again I heave a deep sigh before finally raising my gaze to Monsieur Legrain just as he addresses me. 

“Miss Niehaus, I have just had a conversation with the landlady and your Mistress… it seems to be a most intriguing and unusual case. However, to make a proper assessment, I shall need you to tell your own words, what has developed during your time together since you became her maid. It is obvious to me that she is confused, she knows not who she is… and that she has claimed her name as your own but I would like to understand a little better how this came about? When did it begin? Has she always been confused as to her identity?”

Taking a moment to think before I speak, I weigh my words carefully. Finally decided on what I shall say, I train my voice into an accent that is not my own, one that is less refined and infused with a more southern lilt than the Parisian accent I have grown up with. 

“Well Sir, I first became Madame Delvinquiere’s maid, when she was still Mademoiselle Cormier, about 6 months ago. I admit, she always struck me to be a rather strange character, withdrawn and distant and very bookish but otherwise very kind. She… she became rather fond of me in a short time, and I did my best to please her as her maid… she would plague me to tell her stories of my youth, where I come from and my family and I obliged, because I thought there was no harm in it. Nothing was quite so odd at this point, she knew who she was, though never seemed so happy with her lot. Things began to change however, for the better, when Monsieur Delvinquiere made her acquaintance. Miss Delphine was infatuated with him immediately, and he was smitten for her, when they began courting I was happy, because I believed that perhaps he could get her to withdraw from herself, from the malaise that sometimes overtook her for days at a time. You see, sometimes my mistress would take to the bed for days at a time, nothing would lift her from her sad spirits… she offered no explanation and then, sometimes days later she would just rise from bed and pretend that nothing had happened, as is she hadn't missed days at a time. Anyways, Sir…things went well between the Master and Mistress, they got married and Madame Delvinquiere was so happy, but for such a short time.”

Here I stop to catch my breath, the previouswords came out of me in a monotone rush but now emotion starts to overtake me. I allow the tears that threaten for a very different reason than the lies I tell and pulling in a deep breath; I will myself not to falter,. I know Cosima did not, when faced with the exact same situation, with the same man, spewing the same filthy lies. Exhaling a shuddering sigh I continue, my voice hoarse and broken, just I am “Sir, I am not sure why, or how it came about but the day after the wedding I went to dress her, and she was sitting, staring out the window.She wouldn’t respond when I talked to her and called her. Finally, truly concerned I went and placed a hand on her shoulder to have her look at me with empty eyes and called ME Madame. At first I thought she was joking but as I tried to get her to rise to dress, she insisted that she was Cosima and _I was_ Madame Delphine… I was very confused, but thought it would pass, as her malaise does. Except it didn’t.”

My chest is tight, too tight, my breathe comes in short painful huffs and my shattered heart disintegrates further into a fine dust, utterly crushed and insubstantial enough to be dissipated with the slightest gust of wind.

The Doctor nods slowly, absorbing my words, a contemplative look upon his face “Thank you Miss Niehaus, I appreciate that this has not been easy for you.What you say seems to complement the account of Monsieur Delvinquiere entirely… it seems that the change a married life, leaving her home has been too much for her. From what you have said, Mademoiselle Delvinquiere has always been a delicate and sensitive girl, and it is not unheard of, under such pressure for a person to disassociate, to claim the existence of another to escape from themselves. He sucks on his on pen thoughtfully for a moment before asking “You say she was bookish? Had an affinity for reading?”

The question is addressed to me, and I reply stiffly, surely expecting what he will say next, but the very though makes me peevish “Yes sir, she was always reading, always.” 

The doctor grumbled further to himself, muttering “The learning of women seems to be the root of so many problems.” He sighs deeply, nodding, before turning back to Felix. 

“Forgive me, but I saw your wife wears no ring Sir, can I ask why?”

Felix looks feigns abashment at the question, though I know he must be happy the doctor has noticed, before he replies haltingly “I dare say I am shamed but you must know all I suppose, to be able to help her. She removed it. That morning Miss Niehaus came to fetch me, worried about her mistresses’ odd behaviour I rose to the room to find my wife still dressed in her nightgown. I tried to talk to her, called her my wife, took her hand and kissed the ring and begged her to see sense, but she looked at the ring horrified. She pulled it off and pressed it upon me, begging me to understand she didn’t _steal_ it, Sir. She babbled on and on, and grew so distressed I took the ring from her and told her I believed her.”

Felix’s eyes fill with false tears; he is good, very good and the doctor places a hand on his shoulder thoughtfully. I think he is finished, but as always, he loves to go too far, he enjoys the game too much and continues on more dramatically than ever. I stay silent, willing him to shut up but he is on a roll. “To think Doctor Legrain, my own _wife,_ a Lady of birth would rather pretend to be a servant, would rather forget, rather disbelieve that I am her husband, and fawn and fret over her maid-“ his voice breaks-“it is too much, Sir.”

Monsieur Legrain is sympathetic, drawn into Felix’s performance. “ Monsieur Delvinquiere,  rest assured, we will take care of your wife, I agree she needs help and extensive treatment and we will work ceaselessly to rouse her from this unnatural fancy she is entertaining.”

When he says this head pops up, his eyes wide and glazed with tears, and he looks at me, I catch the hint of triumph that is swiftly followed by and malevolence that takes its place. My blood runs cold at that look, for what we have set out to accomplish is done, and I do not know what he seeks to gain by continuing this farce further than he needs to. When Felix speaks again his voice is hoarse and ragged with emotion. “Thank you Sir, thank you so much, but if my wife is to get hope, I fear I must tell you of her other strange and unnatural behaviours… because I… I fear that is not all. I dare say that as a gentleman, I should rather keep it to myself but... If I wish her to be cured, to have the woman I love back I cannot think of myself in this.” 

I am stoic in my expression but Felix’s words start to make a sense and I understand that he means me to pay for what I did. I can see the mounting triumph in his gaze and I implore him with my eyes not to do it, not to do this to me.

I know what he is going to say and must stop him, because I _know that look_ , I recognise that malice. Standing quickly, I go to speak but Felix takes a quick step to me and clamps his hands to my shoulder, speaking quickly before I can, his fingers dig into my shoulder hard and I gasp. He then looks to the doctor gripping ever tighter wild still speaking to me “Cosima it is not your fault… this man is a doctor he means to help, he does not judge and you do not bear my wife’s shame. You did nothing encourage the attentions she pressed upon you the other night, you did nothing to incite them.” 

Doctor Legrain gasps audibly, his eyebrows raise and his eyes boggle as he absorbs the bastard’s words. When I speak the doctor seems to stunned that he doesn’t notice the familiarity that I address to Felix as I spit through gritted teeth “Felix, no. Please”

But Felix is merciless, he grips me tighter still and I know I can feel the dark blooms spreading under my skin. I try to shirk his grip but he holds me fast. He coughs before speaking, lowering his eyes, but his voice remains strong as he speaks “Cosima, please, I must tell him the truth of my wife’s sickness… Now hush. Doctor, my wife went into Miss Niehaus’ bed the other night, and attempted to seduce her while I her husband was just a room a way. I was drawn my Miss Niehaus’s panicked cries andpleas to stop and I saw my wife, quite plainly in a frenzy forcing herself on Miss Niehaus here. This girl has known much suffering from her mistress but I fear that my wife’s malaise runs deep, deeper than salvageable, now there is perversion involved I wonder how can she be saved?” Tears fall from his eyes, but they don’t glitter with them, they glitter with hatred, and satisfaction for having truly shamed me.  


My face blazes and I know Felix said this to punish me, to humiliate me, to make me suffer and I do. Tears fall thick and fast as a sob rises to my chest, a sob of anger, injustice and pain and I do not bother to hold it in, and let it burst free, the doctor must read this as an admission because he asks “Miss Niehaus, is this true?” and when I sob harder Felix interjects. 

“Sir, doesn’t this –“Felix gestures to me-“speak for itself? Aren’t her tears and sobs proof enough of the horrors this poor woman was subjected to? I had to pull my wife off her myself, and I do not wish for Miss Niehaus to have to relive the encounter, she has suffered enough. But I want to know-“Felix eyes hold mine dangerously-“what treatments will be necessary to cure her of such a sickness?”

I cannot hear this, I cannot hear of the tortures the girl shall suffer. This is why he has done this… to ensure a most terrible and brutal internment for Cosima, and this is why he told the doctor in front of me, because he wants me to hear it all.  


Monsieur Legrain huffs and adjusts his trousers before muttering a gruff “Of course, you are right Monsieur Delvinquiere, she has been already subjected to too much. Miss Niehaus you need no longer be in fear for your safety, we will cure your Mistress, no matter how long it takes. In regards to the treatment Sir, are you sure you wish to know? They may seem rather drastic, but are necessary, I assure you. 

Felix nods before glancing at m “She is my wife, I bear what she does. I wish to know it all.” 

I begin to shake, terror and horror leaving me light headed, I stammer “May I take my leave… Sir?”  


Felix remains grim, and his eyes narrow imperceptibly “No not yet, we are to hear the fate of your Mistress.”

My heart squeezes a the Doctor gathers himself, and looks hard into Felix’s eyes, his voice grave and his eyes wide, his tone gentle “ Ahem…Well sir, water treatments have proven quite effective, there are various methods. Ice baths, hosing, plunging… then there are newer treatments, aversion therapy of sorts… where we try to incite the malaise and associate it with a negative experience. Then there are... I am not sure if you have heard of it… electrical therapy? It is very new but looks very promising. Monsieur Delvinquiere, the situation is grave, but I have faith that we can restore your wife to her capacities… however… it will be a lengthy process… you must be patient, Sir.”

I’m pummelled with images from my childhood; the  quaking women, sobbing shrieks as they are pulled away, the disjointed screams that echoed through the corridors, and I nearly swoon. Felix catches my arm as I stumble, then he takes a deep breath and pretends to struggle a moment before saying “Whatever it takes sir, I just want my wife back and healthy… I want her to be happy.

No longer able to stand, the horror of what I have done to Cosima is fully inflicted upon me, Felix helps me slip down into a hard chair and I sob quietly unable to speak, stand, or breathe. The doctor withdraws his papers and Felix signs them immediately, letting a tear slide down his pale and angelic face. I stay sitting, frozen to the chair as I hear him see the doctor out, I hear their murmured assurances and “thank you’s” and then I hear the door shut. 

Felix doesn’t come to me right away and I stay there. Eventually my tears cease and I feel empty and hollow. When he comes in he obviously expects anger, because he holds himself tall and stiffly, but I give him nothing. He exhales a breath before saying “I warned you not to cross me, I told you I would make you both pay for it, and so I did. You deserved it, and so did she… now you know what you’ve gotten yourselves into there is no going back. Besides… you shouldn’t feel sorry for her, she doesn’t for you, and it is no trouble to her imagining you sitting in the madhouse, so harden your weak heart would you? We have done it. Only a few more weeks of _this_ … and you are your own woman Delphine.” Then he dips his hand to his pocket and withdraws the wedding band and placing it on the table between us. 

Finally I lift my head, my gaze bores into him as I manage to spit from between my teeth, “You…. Are… _vile_.”

Felix snorts, he sits down on the hard chair across from me before scoffing “Yes, I am. I don’t deny it, but it is _you that is the liar._ Look me in the eye and tell me that even for the briefest moment, before, or when all this just began that you didn’t feel the thrill. Tell me you didn’t get swept up in _the game_ before you got swept up in her, tell me that and you are lying, you are as vile as I am Delphine Cormier.” 

I say nothing, for there is nothing to say… he has a point, before I fell for the margaute, so hopelessly hard and fast I _did_ feel _something_ , perhaps is wasn’t quite a thrill, but perhaps it was.

Sensing I won’t respond, Felix smirks “Delphine, you and I are not so different. Hate me all you want, hate and blame others all you wish, the truth stays the same. I have seen the true you in this. I know what you are capable of, and I see myself in you, despite how much you fight it. So I say it again, hate me all you want, call me whatever you need to but to hate me is to hate yourself.”

I shift forward close to him and lean in slowly, painfully close and for a moment his eyes widen and I am sure he believes I shall kiss him. Drawing agonisingly close, his gaze flutters in panic and can feel he has stopped breathing. I don't drop my gaze from his, but let the vehemence burn from within and when the words fall heavy between us “I do.”

With that I stand, leaving him gawping at the table and go silently to my bedroom, cursed with the knowledge that he is right.

XXX

 

When Felix comes to bed that night he does not say much and one might think him abashed by his behaviour that afternoon, but I know him better than that. When he speaks to me he is tactful but firm, keeping his little speech short, knowing my patience is beyond passed its limits “Delphine, tomorrow morning will be hard, but it will be the end. It is almost done, and you will be rid of me before you know it… do not falter on the last step. Cosima isn’t, and I think you need to understand that.”

Refusing to acknowledge him, refusing to look at him, I once again push myself into the hard armchair and sit there in the flickering candlelight all-night long. Despite my attempts to ignore Felix, his words stay with me and they hurt though I already know that Cosima is following through with the plan, without hesitation. I refuse to feel sorry for myself, I refuse to feel sorry for her, no longer will I allow weakness. I myself in my cloud of pain, rage and hatred, smothering the horror and remorse that sprouts from what is to be inflicted on the girl.

The next morning I observe the sunrise from the window, glancing atFelix’s slumbering form in the bed and I think numbly to myself how much younger he looks while he sleeps, how much kinder he seems and for the first time ever I question… what led _him_ to become the person he is? What left this man devoid of conscience, or care? Felix knows me, or so he says though I am inclined to believe him but it occurs to me that I know nothing at all about him, nor did I ever care to ask. Though I hate the man, I know longer judge him for what he is… because he is right. I am like him… I am no better. I am as much as a monster as he is. 

He takes his leave while I dress and I wait for Cosima to come to me, as she does ever morning. Soon enough she knocks and enters, wearing the maroon gown I gave her what feels like a life time ago and looks stunning, as always. Studying her, I cannot help but _hope_ that there shall be _SOMETHING_ akin to remorse in her stance, in her expression… anything other than coldness but Felix is right; Cosima shows no sign of weakness. 

Turning from the girl, I resume ignoring her and look out the window, lost in my thoughts, willing myself not to think nor feel and embrace the emptiness that shadows me.Minutes pass and after a flurry of movement I am taken completely by surprise as I feel Cosima’s strong arms encircle my waist, clasping me painfully tight to her.

Remaining unresponsive I ignore the cracks that appear around the walls that protect my resolve, now lodged in the place where my heart used to be before she ripped it from me. 

I will not cede, I will not succumb to her embrace because I know what it is… it is Cosima’s apology, it is her goodbye and it makes me sick to my stomach. I scream internally because Cosima can be as sorry as she wants but the girl has forever broken my heart and I shall not let her break me more. I shall not let her take freedom away from me along everything else and so I stand stiff in her arms for what feels like an eternity, until she finally releases me and turns away to collect the bags she has packed for us. 

Felix calls us then and we look at each other and I am certain both of us are thinking the same thing; It’s time. I allow myself to take Cosima in one last time; small and yet beautiful with her rich, warm brown eyes, her golden skin and of course the glasses that render her so charming. 

I cannot say I look as well and do not need a mirror to guess how unkempt I must appear in comparison. I have lost weight, though unintentionally and the old battered dress I bear hangs loose on my frame. My face is pale and my curls, knotted into a nondescript bun. 

Cosima on the other hand shines like a gem in my dress, her hair is as usual tucked away and her bronze skin hides her fatigue, though I notice it. All in all Cosima looks well, just as she is supposed to, she looks like a Lady while I look like no one at all. 

Cosima still thinks it is I who shall be taken this very morning; the papers are signed, our bags are packed and as per my insistence this morning, I am now in possession of both Cosima and Felix’s papers, my only real security in this whole mess. In the end, despite all promises he made the night we made our pact all those months ago, it was a battle to get them from him. It took me threatening to tell Cosima the truth and him seeing I meant it, to hand them over with ill grace. 

It takes me a moment to register that it is happening; really and truly happening. I am in a daze as Cosima and I descend the creaking staircase, clutching my packed back so tight in my hand that my knuckles turn white. When Cosima first sees the carriage she looks stricken for the briefest of seconds and I wonder if her façade will crack, even a little. A moment later however the instant passes and though she stands tense, Cosima doesn’t even spare me a glance and something within me cracks. 

Gazing up at the darkened wagon I almost falter and reach out for support and Cosima is there, as she always is. How ironic it is that despite everything, this girl still brings me comfort, even now. The thought is too much and the spiteful beast that has made its rebirth rises up and grasps it, strangles the life from it, just as Cosima did to me. 

I disengage from her embrace and walk on to step into the carriage unaided. Withdrawing into myself I languish in the betrayal I feel, bathing my wounds in the salt of my internal tears while relishing the burn of it on my flayed heart

The irony is not lost on me even as I bask in the pain caused by Cosima’s treachery for I am about to do the exact same thing she intends to do to me. Perhaps what _I_ mean to do is even worse because for Cosima, this is business and not a personal vendetta… at least not yet. Spite may not be in Cosima’s nature but it is in mine and while I languish in my heartbreak and decide that for me, it is no longer about the money, no longer about my freedom. I remember her kisses, her touches, I remember all of her lies and tell myself that she may go to the madhouse…and may she rot there.

XXX

 

 

 

Perhaps if she had spared me a look Cosima would have sensed something was amiss, perhaps she would have seen the fire and ire in my eyes but she stares solidly ahead as if afraid to look at me… and so she should be. 

Drawing a deep breath, I watch the carriage door swing open, revealing Monsieur Legrain sits who in it. I reign in my temper and lower my gaze, letting Felix usher me into the carriage, followed by Cosima who sits closest to the door. Bitterly I notice how Doctor Legrain glances between us, a rapt and intense expression on his face and I am sure he is recalling Felix’s accusations; the lies that are not so far from the truth. In a way I am grateful for his lewd regard because his ravenous expression reminds me of my uncle and his friends, it reminds me of what I have left behind, and what I will have to return to should I fail. Dropping my gaze to my lap I sit in silence, and when the lock of the door clicks closed I resign myself, waiting for the end to finally come. 

 

Perhaps you may not see it the way I do, but maybe you can understand that in the end that it was not spite that truly caused me to follow through with the wicked act; to steal that girls identity and life. I can admit that spite fuelled me, yes. I can agree that I cloaked myself in rage and let it feed me. In saying that, it was not the betrayal itself that caused me to despise her so, but rather my feelings in regards to the woman herself. Hatred was not the last nail in Cosima’s coffin, but it was love I bore for her. I loved Cosima more than I have ever loved anyone or anything, more than I ever would love anything, ever again. I gave myself to her, I gave her my stunted, crippled heart, I gave her my love and she didn’t love me back. 

It is a poor excuse and in no way negates me of the horror I did. Better it would have been that I truly hated her, better it would have been to be a malicious desire to hurt her rather than betray the woman I loved because she broke my heart. That fact is something that I shall have to live with from this point on… it is what I shall have to bear until that moment she is pulled into the madhouse and our carriage rides away that I realise; I have made the biggest mistake of my life. 

However, I do not know this… not yet at least. As we trundle along in the dark cabin I just long to get it done with. I can feel Cosima sitting beside me, as tense as a spring and it does nothing to relax me to know she is gearing herself up for me to be taken. I suppose my expression must be a strange one because Felix says to me, his voice firm and steady in the gloom “Now. Let’s not get emotional about leaving shall we?” Resisting the urge to roll my eyes I ask him in a monotone, my voice low “How long will this take?” and Felix responds “The journey? Not long at all, perhaps a half an hour”

Half an hour? How can time seem to expand and stretch into infinity in moments like this, yet hours can seem to be compressed into fleeting seconds on nights like the one Cosima and I shared?Each minute feel like an eternity as the carriage makes its slow advance until Monsieur Legrain finally speaks “I should say we will be there very soon.” Looking out the window I recognise the thick grey walls of the asylum from so many years ago and turn back around and sigh. Cosima is openly gaping at me now, probably wondering why I am not reacting to the sight of what is obviously not a train station but I cannot spare her a thought and try to ignore her, but my resolve is breaking and Felix sees it. He locks his gaze with mine and mutters “Everything is going to be alright. Don’t be frightened.” His words mean nothing, yet I want to laugh because of all the things I feel, fear is not one of them.

Eventually the carriage pulls up beside the house and waiting at its door are nurses, dressed in the very same uniform that I had grown up with. The sight draws a strangely warm, nostalgic feeling from me in that moment and it brings me a brief comfort. I ignore Cosima who stares at me, her lip is caught between her teeth and trembling ever so slightly.

Doctor Legrain leans forward, unlocks the door and swings it open and the staff by the door move forward immediately. Felix catches my eye and gives me a nod, tensing;ready to spring forward at any second. I stay still but notice how he shifts ever closer to Cosima, who is caught staring up at the house, horror etched all over her beautiful complexion. 

Dr Legrain greets a companion and steps down from the carriage, then he turns and smiles to us all before reaching in, extending his hand to Cosima, who sits beside the open carriage door. She doesn’t realise straight away, she doesn’t realise that the doctor speaks to her, for her gaze is trained on me. A moment passes before she turns her gaze towards the hand, looking back up from it to the doctor and Felix seizes his chance. He springs up and grips Cosima about the arm and pushes her to her feet. Doctor Legrain reaches forward and grabs her hand, holding her tight. Cosima looks about her bemused for a moment, for she doesn’t quite understand… not yet. She looks between Felix and the doctor, wriggling against their grip as she speaks, her voice shrill “What is going on? Monsieur? What are you doing-?

When Felix speaks, “Be calm my sweet-“ Cosima’s entire body stiffens, I can see realisation drawn upon her.Horror etches into every line of her face beautiful face as Felix leans close and caresses her hair, murmuring soothing nonsense as Cosima struggles harder. Cosima pulls her head back and Felix bendinglow while trying to push her through the door receives an astonishingly forceful head-butt to the face. I hear his nose crack and then all descends to chaos. Blood is pouring copiously from Felix’s nose as he desperately tries to keep a grip on Cosima’s arm and staunch the bleeding with the other. Cosima has started to scream, louder than I thought anyone could ever produce and all I can see from my seat at the back of the carriage is a flurry of movement.I am deafened by noise; then mens cajoling and grunts, Cosima’s shrill screams as she shouts “It’s not me!!! It’s not me! I’m Cosima! Cosima Niehaus!! Cosima Fournier! I’m not his wife! I’m not his anything!!! ! Get your hands off me!!! I’m not the one you want! MONSIEUR TELL THEM!” 

It is almost too much; the pain is like a knife plunged into my stomach and I almost rise to go to her, to help her, but I force myself to keep still. 

Blocking it out, I focus on her words “I’m not the one you want.” I say them to myself over and over again and I turn away from the commotion; not helping in any way to either get her out, or pull her back in. It takes the combined force of the two doctors, two nurses and Felix to extract Cosima from the carriage and even so she retains an iron tight grip to the door as writhing and shrieking like the snake she is and the men struggle to pull her off. Cosima seems to look for me, her gaze seeking mine and like the magnetic force that once pulled us together I find my gaze is pulled towards hers.

In the midst of the horror within her eyes I see desperation and for a moment hope. It is short lived for the moment she meets my stare it drains away and disbelief takes its place.Cosima stops her screaming for what seems like an eternity while her regard holds my own and I try to remain unmoved, to remain stoic. She ceases to struggle and I refuse any emotion other than bitterness, telling myself… this is what you wanted all along Cosima, and you may have it. 

It is only when she is shaken from her stupor by Dr. Legrain who urges her towards the madhouse door, saying “That is enough of that. I dare say you should say goodbye to your maid, Madame Delvinquiere… she has taken very good care of you. Hopefully you will see her again soon when you are feeling better.”

The last piece of her puzzle fits, and Cosima’s confused and hurt glaze clears…I can see in that moment she at last understands the gravity of what I have done. Speaking out from within the gloom I am compelled to drive the knife deeper, to hurt her as much as she has hurt me and when I speak it is with my false southern accent “Goodbye, Mistress.”

And it breaks her. 

Cosima had stopped struggling but now she suddenly launches herself at me and I cannot help but flinch as she almost growls and reaches out for me. She doesn't get far, because luckily for me she is held fast by her captors, who pull her towards the asylum. Cosima begins to scream again as fights them tooth and her eyes stay locked on mine until Felix steps into the carriage and swiftly closes the door behind him.

As soon as that door shuts and lock clicks closed… I want her back. I feel the cold douse of reality that comes with the knowledge that we got away with it... and I am horrified we did. 


End file.
